A Beast Unto Ourselves
by QueenOfTheDreamers87
Summary: 1971. MACUSA is on the brink of chaos. Lord Voldemort is cementing his rule with Bellatrix at his side. With linked minds and twinned souls, the twisted love story of the Troublemaker series continues. Bellamort, follows The Old Man and the Little Boy. COMPLETE. Part III of Troublemaker Series. Re-post.
1. Chapter 1

**Number Six, St Alban's Grove, London**

 **6 November 1971**

"Bella."

Her eyes sprang open, for her shoulder was being shaken roughly, and Voldemort hissed at her,

"Get your wand; there's someone in the house."

Bellatrix tried not to gasp. She blinked quickly a few times, put herself into battle mode, and snatched at her wand from the table beside the bed. She and Voldemort tiptoed to the doorway, and she could feel his trepidation rolling off him in waves. She knew he was among the most powerful Legilimens to ever live, so if he'd been awakened by the sensation of someone in the house, it was probably true.

He paused with his hand on the doorjamb and turned to look right at Bellatrix. Suddenly a thought, clear as speech, flew into her head from his.

 _It's your sister._

Bellatrix was confused, but she followed him swiftly and silently down the stairs. She held her wand out, her eyes scanning the library to the left.

"Stu -"

 _"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Bellatrix whirled around to see a flash of vibrant green light, and then her eyes settled on the corpse that had collapsed to the ground. Ted Tonks.

"Andromeda!" Bellatrix shrieked, dashing through the house with her wand held out. "Where are you, you little traitor bitch? Come out, come out, blood traitor!"

She rushed through the parlour and the dining-room, and when she came into the kitchen, she found Andromeda standing with her own wand extended. Andromeda's pretty face had barely aged since Bellatrix had last seen her. It didn't matter. She was already dead in Bellatrix's mind. For a half second, Andromeda gave Bellatrix a pleading look, and she insisted,

"We came to talk. To get amnesty for those who -"

"You came to talk. In the middle of the night. By breaking into a house protected by all manner of wards. Liar. _Crucio!_ "

Bellatrix's spell hit Andromeda like a bomb detonating, and the younger sister's wand clattered to the tile floor in the kitchen. She shrieked wildly and began convulsing. Bellatrix held the spell for only a moment, and then she demanded,

"How did you find out where we live?"

Andromeda didn't answer. She just rolled slowly and tried to reach for her wand.

" _Accio_ wand," Bellatrix said, and the wand came flying toward her. She snapped it at once, her mind suddenly going to the day when she and her sisters and parents had taken Andromeda to Ollivander's. Bellatrix kicked the broken bits of wand away, from beside her, Lord Voldemort said smoothly,

 _"Legilimens."_

He stared at Andromeda, his eyes locked on the girl's face even as she said pitifully to Bellatrix,

"Please. Bella, you must know how this has all gone out of control. We need to talk about justice, about giving people their rights back. I just want to live in peace with Ted…"

"The Mudblood is dead," Bellatrix said dryly. Voldemort cleared his throat from beside her and murmured,

"She forced your parents' House-Elf to trace our Disapparation from that home to this one. They thought if they snuck in, they could force a conversation about Mudbloods' so-called 'rights.'"

"Fucking Marley," Bellatrix snarled. She raised her wand to Andromeda, who sobbed softly and said up to Voldemort,

"You're destroying lives. You're ruining it all. Everything."

"You're wrong, Andy," Bellatrix whispered, using her old nickname for the girl. "You've always been wrong about all this."

"She didn't think you had it in you to kill her," Voldemort said. "She told the Mudblood that you wouldn't kill your own sister."

"I only have one sister," Bellatrix huffed, "and Cissy isn't here. _Avada Kedavra!"_

The jade green explosion of light hit Andromeda square on, filling the kitchen with vivid energy for a moment before dissipating. Bellatrix lowered her wand, staring at Andromeda's motionless corpse. Her hand should be shaking, she thought. She should be crying.

"Why don't you go Vanish the Mudblood's body?" Voldemort suggested, almost gently. "Let me attend to hers."

"With all due respect, My Lord, she was a traitor against me just as much as she was one against you," Bellatrix said. She raised her wand again, her hand steady and sure, and she said firmly, _"Corpus Evanesco."_

Andromeda's body dissolved into thin air, Vanishing into non-being as though the witch had never been born. For a little moment, Bellatrix was hit with a shock of memories. They came all at once, like a cascade.

Bellatrix and Andromeda playing with an infant Narcissa, teasing her with toys. The three girls ambling down Diagon Alley behind their mother, who was making yet another trip to Twillfit and Tattings. Getting ice cream at Florean Fortescue's, with Andromeda demanding to know why Bellatrix didn't like the strawberry flavour. Andromeda walking arm-in-arm with Ted Tonks through the corridors of Hogwarts, and Bellatrix firmly scolding her later in the Slytherin Common Room. Marley always making Andromeda's very favourite Christmas cookies, the lemon ones with powdered sugar.

"Bella," Voldemort said quietly, "There's no one else here. They acted alone. But we have to leave, you understand? The fact that they just… barged in…"

"How did they do it?" Bellatrix demanded. "How did they get in the house?"

"There weren't anti-Apparition charms, strictly speaking," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix could tell he was furious with himself. He shrugged a little. "It's fine. I've been thinking of building a larger residence in the countryside. We'll go to Malfoy Manor for the time being."

"All right." Bellatrix stared at the ground where Andromeda had been. Then she looked at the two broken pieces of Andromeda's wand where they lay on the tile. She swallowed hard, aimed her wand at the pieces, and said, _"Incendio."_

Then she watched them burn, the remnants of her dead sister's magic.

"Will you be all right?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix turned her face to him.

"I've killed many times before, My Lord, and I've always been just fine."

"This didn't feel any different?" he raised his eyebrows at her, and Bellatrix shook her head firmly.

"No, My Lord. Why would it feel different?"

Voldemort cupped her jaw in his hand and lowered his lips to hers.

"There she is again," he whispered. "My beautifully vicious little thing."

* * *

 **Wasdale, Lake District**

 **12 November 1971**

"Well?" Voldemort said, gesturing rather grandly to the moorland around him. A quiet, soft rain was falling, and Bellatrix turned her face through the foggy morning to look up at the craggy screes.

"It's beautiful," she said honestly. "You're going to build it here? The new residence?"

Voldemort chewed his lip and said, "I've already built it."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open. He'd been gone the last ten days from dawn until dusk, but she'd assumed he'd been working on projects with his own Ministry, or keeping track of the situation in America. Every night she'd briefed him with mail and news, like the good secretary she was, but he'd always seemed distracted and exhausted. They hadn't made love in over a week, and Bellatrix hadn't pushed the issue. Perhaps, she thought, he'd been in screaming matches all day. Perhaps he'd been doing something he couldn't discuss with her. Through their new, strange bond, she could feel his fatigue, his worry, but only the most fleeting distinct thoughts.

She had seen this place a few days earlier, but she thought maybe he'd come here for a battle. They hadn't talked war ever since she'd had to kill Andromeda, but she'd assumed the image of this rugged moorland had something to do with combat. She'd been wrong, it seemed.

"You've already built it," Bellatrix said, looking around and shrugging. "Where is it?"

Voldemort smirked. "This one is properly hidden."

He turned round then and began moving his wand in elegant arcs and angry slashes. Tearing down his barriers, his wards, his distraction techniques and his diversionary tactics. Bellatrix watched in awe as a grey stone structure began to materialise, appearing slowly as though it were eating its way through the ether. Finally Voldemort turned back to face her, his skin dripping with the soft rain as he crossed his arms and asked rather pompously,

"So? What do you think?"

"It's… it's a castle," Bellatrix noted, taking a few steps over the brown grass and dead thistles toward the building.

"Have you got something against castles?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix shook her head.

"Certainly not, My Lord."

She stepped closer to the enormous structure, which seemed like it had quite taken over the rural valley. It was comprised of four matching towers with defensive walls between them.

"There's a courtyard in the centre," Voldemort was saying from behind her as she studied the stained glass windows. "Each tower has bedrooms and a full bathroom. One tower has the kitchens and dining room. Another has a number of parlours and libraries. Yet another contains offices - for both of us, mind. The last has an owlery and a gathering hall. Just in case we ever decide to host anybody."

Bellatrix whirled away from the castle and demanded in a tone she knew to be insubordinate, "How did you do this? How did you build this castle in ten days' time?"

Voldemort looked awfully smug, and she could feel his sense of triumph as he said, "I didn't personally do much of anything. There are architects and carpenters for this sort of thing. Interior designers."

"Muggle or Magical?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort said simply,

"Both. I used who I needed, and I Obliviated them all. A few I killed for my own purposes."

Bellatrix didn't suppose she was meant to know what those purposes were, but in a sudden flash of their minds joined, she saw him in a cave, surrounded by pale white creatures who had once been human. Inferi. Bellatrix swallowed hard and turned back to the castle.

"Can we go inside?"

"Of course. We live here now," Voldemort said. "There are three House-Elves. They'll behave better than Marley did. Oh, I replaced her for your parents, by the way."

"Thank you," Bellatrix said numbly, walking slowly up to the castle's oversized wooden doors. They creaked open, taking their time in moving, and Voldemort said,

"It'll open for us both. Anyone else who attempts to enter without explicit permission will hit a shield and dissolve."

"Dissolve," Bellatrix repeated. "You mean they'll Vanish?"

Voldemort stepped up beside her and tipped his head. "Something like that. Come on, little thing. Let's get out of this rain."

Castles were inherently cold; Hogwarts had always seemed to be wrestling with itself to stay warm. But when Bellatrix stepped into the carpet-lined corridor of the castle here, she felt perfectly comfortable. The gloom and damp from outside had gone. It had given way to a cosy sort of pleasantness, and Bellatrix had a smile on her face as she explored.

"The master suite is in the tower to your left," Voldemort told her. "The ground level is the offices, and up the stairs is the bedroom."

Bellatrix stepped from the corridor through a heavy doorway into the tower. To her left, she could see a spacious and minimally-decorated office that was clearly intended to be Lord Voldemort's. There was heavy, dark wood paneling the walls, and his windows looked straight out onto the steep, rugged scree. To the right was a slightly smaller office, midnight blue and silver. It reminded Bellatrix vaguely of her childhood bedroom, which made her eyes burn for some reason. Her desk was black wood, and a painting on the wall showed a single white rose lying on garden bench.

"This is beautiful," Bellatrix breathed.

"Go upstairs," Voldemort commanded her. She rubbed her hand on the swirled newel post of the stout stairs for a moment, and she turned to face him. She could feel everything he felt just now. Pride in what he'd made. The death of the jealousy he'd felt when they'd visited America. A sense that, finally, Lord Voldemort would live the life of a monarch like he ought to. And then there was a little uncertainty, a slight fear that somehow it wasn't good enough for Bellatrix.

"It's more than enough, My Lord," she nodded. "What is it called? Castles have names."

"It's called Archer's Edge," Voldemort said at once, and Bellatrix had to try not to cry then. Archer's Edge. Bellatrix - the star called Bellatrix - was situated on the outer edge of the arm of Orion the Hunter in the sky. Bellatrix the star was at the crux of Orion's arm, the arm that held his bow. Bellatrix was the Archer's Edge.

"Go upstairs," he whispered again, and this time Bellatrix just nodded as she turned and walked up the wide, twisting staircase. She reached the top of the spiral and gasped softly. She'd come straight up into an enormous bedchamber, which somehow felt airy despite the rain falling outside the arched windows. The stone walls were adorned with tapestries depicting moments from Magical history, and the stately bed in the centre of the room had emerald green curtains and linens. There was a marble fireplace, and Bellatrix could see a black-and-white tiled bathroom through an arched doorway. She stood near the windows and just took it all in for a moment.

"I thought you were fighting," she finally said. "Ten days of you being exhausted and irritated and… gone. I thought you were doing something else."

"Then my Occlumency isn't entirely useless against you," Voldemort said, tucking her hair behind her ear. His face was serious as he said, "Lord Voldemort needs to live somewhere impressive. But, just like Malfoy Manor, it needs to be impenetrable. People can come here on official business, but there will be no break-ins. Nothing like what happened in London."

With Andromeda, he meant. Bellatrix nodded. There were signs that the President of MACUSA was going to attempt her coup at any moment, Bellatrix knew. If things in America went wobbly, it would be more important than ever that the fledgling leadership in wizarding Britain look entirely secure. Having a home like this was like having one of the grandiose palaces where the Muggle kings and queens cavorted. It would make him seem otherworldly and untouchable. It wouldn't due for the demagogue of the wizarding world to live in the home of Malfoy family forever, and apparently a rowhouse in London wasn't good enough, either.

"Archer's Edge," Bellatrix nodded. She sighed and reached up to take his bearded face in her hands. "I think I'll like it here."

He bent to kiss her, pressing her against the stone walls he'd had made. His fingers pulled a little at the hem of her tunic, and he whispered against her lips,

"The House-Elves know not to come up here unless they're summoned. What do you say we break in the bed a little?"

* * *

 **Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **16 November 1971**

"... and on the Mudblood front…" Abraxas Malfoy pulled a few sheets of parchment from his leather folio and put them on Lord Voldemort's desk as he said proudly, "In the past week, the Ministry has nullified a dozen marriages involving Mudbloods. We've also seized and incinerated forty-two wands, and seventeen children of Mudbloods were registered under the Impurity of Blood Act."

"Well done," Voldemort commended, pushing the parchments aside as he nodded. "Any news from America?"

"Nothing revelatory, My Lord," Abraxas admitted, pushing his silver-blond hair from his face. "We've got a spy who keeps us informed, but transatlantic communication is slow, and he claims that MACUSA is still operating as always."

"Keep me apprised," Voldemort said sternly. "I can tell the coup is imminent."

"As soon as I have a scrap of information, My Lord, you'll be notified at once," Malfoy nodded. He drummed his fingers on his folio and said, "The final thing on my agenda is the international Quidditch tournament. It begins tomorrow, as you know. The first match is between the English and Italian teams. Rabastan Lestrange has already arranged for a large, private box for you and wonders if you will be in attendance."

"Yes, of course," Voldemort nodded. "It's good optics."

"I agree wholeheartedly, Master," said Abraxas. He looked a little nervous then as he asked, "Will Madam Black be there, as well?"

Voldemort scoffed and said quietly, "She doesn't like Quidditch. Still… let me find out. Bella!"

He called her name just loudly enough that Abraxas Malfoy might think she could hear him. But he summoned her with his mind, willing her to come into his office. He heard a dull scraping of a chair on the floor in the distance, and a few moments later, she appeared in the threshold of his office. She flashed him a pretty little smile and acknowledged,

"My Lord. Minister Malfoy."

Abraxas Malfoy flew to his feet and bowed his head. "My Lady."

Bellatrix stepped into the office as Malfoy sat back down. Voldemort sniffed lightly and asked her, "Have you any interest in attending the Quidditch match tomorrow? It's England and Italy. We'd have a box."

"Well." Bellatrix shifted her weight and crossed her arms, her voice a little playful as she noted, "My Lord knows that I have precisely no interest whatsoever in Quidditch. But, of course, if you want me there, I shall be more than happy to feign fascination."

Voldemort couldn't help but laugh a little, and Malfoy grinned as though he'd never been so amused.

"It's settled, then," Voldemort said to Malfoy. "We'll both be there. You can tell Lestrange."

"Very good, My Lord. Thank you," Malfoy said.

"My Lord, I was just finishing up my own briefing for you on the morning's post. Shall I go finish up?" Bellatrix cocked an eyebrow at him, and Voldemort waved his hand dismissively.

"Good day, My Lady," Malfoy said, and she nodded over her shoulder as she left the office.

"Minister."

Once she'd gone, Malfoy folded his hands atop his folio and said, "My Lord, if I may speak plainly to compliment Madam Black… I am immensely impressed with her. I've known her since she was a tiny child, of course, and it doesn't surprise me that she grew to be so competent. But she does her job very well indeed."

Voldemort felt like asking Malfoy why the Dark Lord should care about his Minister's approval when it came to his wife. Instead he snapped,

"You think she's a good secretary, do you?"

Malfoy's cheeks flushed scarlet. "I… I meant… My Lord, I simply meant that she is an honourable and impressive… you know, in her role as our lady."

Voldemort let Malfoy squirm and trip over his words for a moment. Then, deciding that his Minister for Magic deserved at least a modicum of mercy, he said lightly,

"She was born for this, I think."

Malfoy looked relieved as he nodded and huffed, "Quite so, Master."

"If there's nothing else, Malfoy, you can go," Voldemort said, and Malfoy rose and wordlessly nodded. He moved quickly from the office, obviously still embarrassed about how poorly he'd communicated. Voldemort decided to let the man stew in his discomfort. It was good, he thought, for his closest servants to sometimes fear that he might sever ties with them or cut them off from their own little powers. It was good that they feared crossing or offending him. Sometimes, he knew, that meant acting more offended than he actually was.

He glanced up at the sound of knocking on his office doorway, and when he met Bellatrix's eyes, he felt a wash of affection for him that had come straight from her mind. She held up a stack of parchments and asked,

"Ready for my briefing?"

"Come on in," Voldemort nodded. He wandlessly pushed out the chair that Malfoy had just pushed back in, and Bellatrix nodded gratefully as she sat.

"So," she said, "Quidditch tomorrow."

"You'll be in a private box," he pointed out. "If you want to bring a book to stem your boredom, I won't stop you."

Bellatrix smirked and shook her head. "Everyone's going to be watching your box instead of the match. It's not as though I could just sit there and read. Don't worry; I'll clap when England score."

She pulled the first sheet of parchment off her stack and set it down in front of Voldemort, and her voice moved from flirtation to business in a flash.

"Mr Brady Crabbe begs your intervention in the impending marriage of his son to a Half-Blood witch," she said. "He is distraught over the dilution of his Pureblood line and wonders if you might forbid the union."

Voldemort snorted a derisive laugh and shoved the paper aside. "No. I am not going to meddle in such piddling affairs. It's not illegal for a Pureblood to marry a Half-Blood. Send him a letter reminding him that the Dark Lord does not intervene into mundane matters to accommodate the personal preferences of angry fathers."

Bellatrix looked like she was suppressing a smile as she took the letter from the desk and used her self-inking quill to jot a note on the back. She put the next bit of mail in front of Voldemort. This was an elaborately decorated bit of card stock, and Bellatrix said,

"Rodolphus Lestrange and Marya are getting married on the twenty-first of December. I know how you feel about -"

"We're going," Voldemort snapped. "He's one of my most loyal soldiers, and she's your cousin. We're going. Have yourself a very nice gown made, all right?"

Bellatrix nodded but pointed out, "It's rude to look better than the bride on her wedding day."

"Yes, well, you could show up wearing burlap scraps and you'd look better," Voldemort said in a sharp tone. "Next?"

Bellatrix hesitated, staring at the parchment in her lap and then shaking her head. "That's it."

Voldemort could feel her tension, and he scowled as he wandlessly Summoned the parchment from her lap. Bellatrix's cheeks went red at once, and before he could even read the page, she said awkwardly,

"It's just one of the love letters they send you. I thought this one was especially funny, that's all. Thought you might find it amusing."

Voldemort's brows furrowed as he flicked his eyes around the letter.

 _Knowing what power flows from the Dark Lord's wand, I can not help but imagine how powerful his -_

Voldemort crushed the letter in his hand and threw it down onto the desk, scowling at Bellatrix.

"Funny," he repeated. "Amusing. Really?"

Bellatrix reached to take the balled-up letter from the desk, but Voldemort shoved her hand away roughly and picked up his wand. He Vanished the letter and reminded her,

"You're not to pay that drivel any mind. I certainly refuse to do so. Shall I pass an edict threatening any witch who writes me a love letter with time in Azkaban? Would that make you feel better, Bella?"

"No, My Lord," she whispered. She looked away from him, staring at the wall as her eyes welled. He felt a surge of her sorrow and something he thought was regret, and she murmured, "They're just stupid letters, I know. But if I can't find humour in them, then they'll drive me mad with jealousy."

"Jealousy?" Voldemort had to fight not to laugh with disbelief. He held his hands up and leaned back in his chair. "What on Earth would you have to be jealous of?"

Bellatrix shook her head and said quietly, "Nothing. You're right. And I know I'm not allowed to be possessive, but -"

"Whatever do you mean?" Voldemort snapped, the bite in his tone cutting through the office. Bellatrix finally turned her eyes to him and shrugged.

"I'm your wife, but I know that I am also just your servant, and I -"

"You're mine, Bellatrix," Voldemort seethed, and she sat up straighter as she assured him,

"I know that, My Lord."

"And I am yours," he continued, rising from his chair and stalking around his desk. "Just as surely as you belong to me, I belong to you. Perhaps it was never my intention to belong to anyone, to mutually possess one another, but that's what it is, isn't it? Marriage?"

"Perhaps others' marriages," Bellatrix said rather meekly. "I suppose I had thought ours was a little different."

"It is different," Voldemort said, pulling her up by her hands and frowning down into her enormous brown eyes. He coiled her curls around his fingers as he told her, "I have to let them write their silly letters, because it's important that they aspire to be granted even a moment in my presence. Just Vanish the damned letters, will you?"

"All right," Bellatrix nodded. "I'm sorry, My Lord."

He thought for a moment, and then he finally curled up half his mouth. "You keep an eye on your journal. Who knows? Maybe love letters will come for you."

Bellatrix smiled sadly, but Voldemort meant what he'd said. He intended on writing to her every day, even if it was just across the castle. If he could receive mindless letters from witches he didn't know, then she could certainly receive actual letters from her husband.

"Do you ever miss the house?" Bellatrix asked suddenly, and Voldemort shook his head in confusion.

"I'm sorry; is the castle insufficient?"

Bellatrix smiled more mirthfully then, and she sighed. "It's not that. It's just… I can't help but get a little sentimental about the place. It's where you asked me to marry you. It's where I actually married you."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows and reminded her, "It's also where I broke your wrist in a fit of drunken rage, and it's where you killed your sister."

Bellatrix stared at him, her eyes hardening and her voice almost lethal as she said, "The wrist healed. And she was not my sister."

"I admire your revisionist semantics, Bella," Voldemort told her. "Really, I do. But it was time to move on. Bigger and better things, and all that."

Bellatrix nodded, seeming to steel herself as she said stiffly, "You're very right, of course, as you always are. I like the castle very much. I won't concern you anymore with the letters. And I'll put on a good show of strength for you tomorrow at the Quidditch match."

"Of course you will," Voldemort said. He leaned down and touched his lips to her forehead, then put his mouth against hers. She seemed wound up and tense, and he found himself forcing her to let him kiss her properly. When she finally did, letting him into her mouth, her body relaxed a little. Voldemort wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his body.

He loved her more than he had ever thought it possible to love another human. There had been a time when he'd thought himself altogether incapable of love, and that seemed like a million years ago now. Here, in the castle he'd named after her, he knew her to be a powerfully Dark witch and a model consort. But there had been a time when she'd just been a schoolgirl on the other side of a journal. She was the same person now, though things within her had shifted. He wondered if he'd changed as much as she'd done.

"No," Bellatrix whispered, pulling her mouth away. "You've not changed. The authority you possess has changed. You've thrown yourself around in apparent age. But who you are, the wizard who entranced my very soul… you're exactly the same."

She reached up and stroked at his close-cropped beard. He sighed a little and asked,

"Should I shave it off?"

"The beard? No." Bellatrix shook her head and gave him a playful little smile. "It's very sexy."

"Perhaps it's eliciting letters from witches with a fondness for greying beards," Voldemort joked, and Bellatrix laughed quietly for a moment. Then she chewed her lip, gave him a rather weighty look, and said,

"Your wife has a very powerful fondness for your greying beard."

He had her slammed against the edge of the desk before he knew what was happening. His mouth was crushing hers, and it was a dizzy blur as he shoved her long skirt down over her hips and fumbled with the placket of her trousers. He hoisted her up onto his desk, yanking her knickers down and leaving her in her black jumper and her boots. He yanked out his cock, feeling it go hard beneath his palm as he stared at her face. She reached out to hold his jaw in her hand, parting her legs as she whispered,

"An affair with the secretary. Rather cliché, don't you think?"

"It isn't an affair," he said, seizing her hips and pushing himself into her body. "You're my wife."

She was already wet, which made him happy. She was snug and warm as always, and he shuddered as he felt her pleasure mingle with his. Suddenly he couldn't tell whose sensations were whose. He kissed her again, pumping his hips against hers. She liked the feeling of him filling her up, he could tell. She liked how dirty this seemed, to be shagging in his office, even though the castle was their home. She liked the way his beard scratched her face when he kissed her, the way his hands searched her back and arms and breasts.

 _I love you,_ he felt her think, and he sent the idea straight back at her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck as he came. He thought she finished, too, but it would have been impossible to untangle their climaxes in his head.

He stayed linked with her, physically and mentally, for a long moment, until he realised his seed had leaked all over the desk. He picked up his wand and cleaned everything up, tucking his cock away again as Bellatrix gingerly climbed off the desk. She pulled her knickers and skirt back on and asked quietly,

"Are you hungry? I can have the House-Elves cook up a lunch."

Voldemort nodded as he buttoned his trousers. "Go ahead and have them get started. I'll be along."

He watched her go and then felt a strange, acute sense of loss once she was out of view. He sat at his desk again, leaning his head against his hands as he let out a shaking breath. He ruled all of wizarding Britain now. That was unquestioned. He was fully in charge. But when it came to Bellatrix, he couldn't fully be sure anymore who served whom.

For some bizarre reason, that thought did not bother Voldemort nearly as much as it ought to have done.

* * *

 **Sutton-on-Sea, Lincolnshire**

 **17 November 1971**

"You look… good," Voldemort said as soon as they landed outside the Quidditch arena. Bellatrix smirked a little and glanced down at herself. She'd put the outfit together just this morning, aiming for something tough and strong, yet dignified. She'd put on black leggings with knee-high, flat black boots. She had an airy black peasant blouse on, bound with a thick leather corset, complete with silver buckles. Of course, she wore her silver serpent necklace, and she had silver threads wound through the pile of curls on the back of her head. A heavy velvet cape draped around her, blowing back a bit in the cold November wind.

"They're just clothes, My Lord," Bellatrix mumbled self-consciously, following him toward the pitch.

"Still," he said quietly, his own boots crunching on the rocky ground, "you look regal in the right ways."

"Thank you," Bellatrix murmured. She wanted to reach for his gloved hand, to snared their leather-covered fingers together as they walked. But she knew better. The crowd had already gathered inside the Quidditch arena; the Dark Lord was meant to be the last to arrive before the match began. As they approached the tenting around the pitch, Bellatrix saw Rabastan Lestrange standing in simple dark robes, a rather large pin with the badge of the English squad pinned on his cloak.

"My Lord," he called over the wind. "My Lady."

"Harsh breeze for a Quidditch match, isn't it, Lestrange?" Voldemort noted, and Rabastan Lestrange shrugged as he said,

"I flew in far worse for Slytherin, Master."

"It's true," Bellatrix said in a playful tone. "My Lord, I saw Rabastan Lestrange soar through many a squall. If he could do it, I'm sure our national team can weather this bit of wind."

Rabastan laughed, and Voldemort said, "Lestrange, I do believe my wife just smacked your sporting reputation about a bit."

"How is Dahlia?" Bellatrix asked pointedly, and Rabastan sighed a little.

"She apologises, My Lady, for having become a bit reclusive. She's afraid to leave the house very often. I'm sure you understand why, after what happened to Ophelia."

"She has nothing to fear anymore," Voldemort said firmly. "Though, if she wishes to stay at home for her own peace of mind, it is her prerogative."

"Please have her write to me," Bellatrix said, "so that I can come and visit her."

"I will do that, My Lady," Rabastan assured her. "May I escort you both to the box? It's just this way."

He led them through the red and white tenting, through a corridor beneath the scaffolding. Overhead, there was the thrumming life of a crowd riled to a frenzy. Music, wild and projected throughout the arena, whipped energy through the space. Rabastan Lestrange led Bellatrix and Voldemort up a winding set of stairs that seemed far more elaborately constructed than the other scaffolding. Up and up they climbed, until at last they reached a split curtain with the Dark Mark, silver leaf on black velvet.

"Please, will you wait here for just a moment?" Rabastan asked, and though Bellatrix frowned in confusion, Voldemort nodded once. Rabastan disappeared through the curtain, and Bellatrix stared up at her husband, searching for an answer. She could feel his thoughts hurtling into her mind.

 _I require a proper introduction these days, Bellatrix._

Right on cue, the Amplified voice of Rabastan Lestrange thundered through the arena, the music dying out to give way to his speech.

"Good afternoon, witches and wizards from near and far. My name is Rabastan Lestrange. On behalf of the British Department of Magical Games and Sports, I welcome you to the first international sporting event of our land's new era."

There was applause then, and Rabastan waited for it to fade before he continued,

"Please rise and give due attention to our most benevolent commander, His Eminence, the Great Lord Voldemort and Madam Bellatrix Black."

Bellatrix felt a shock of panic strike her through. She wasn't expecting this. She was surprised to feel Voldemort seize her left hand in his right one, and he pulled them both confidently through the parted curtain. Bellatrix's heart stopped for a moment when she stepped out into the spacious box. Every eye in the vast arena was on them, and then, after a second of very weighty silence, the place erupted.

The applause was deafening. People were screaming, shrieking their approval. It seemed to go on forever. Voldemort held his left hand up in silent greeting, his face stony and cold as he gazed out upon the cheering thousands. He squeezed at Bellatrix's hand, his leather glove creaking around hers. She could feel his satisfaction, his almost orgasmic sense of bliss as the people roared their approval and obedience.

 _Smile for them, little thing._

She curled her lips up at his unspoken command, finally managing a warmer grin. Finally, Voldemort gestured to one of the carved wooden chairs in the box, inviting Bellatrix to sit. She did, and he sank onto the cushioned chair beside her.

"My Lord," said Rabastan Lestrange from behind them, "Please do not hesitate to call me through the Mark if you or the Lady need anything at all before the end of the match."

"Thank you, Lestrange," Voldemort nodded, and Rabastan left to attend to his own duties.

The squad for Italy was introduced first, to a mixture of boos and cheers, and then the English team was brought out onto the pitch one player at a time. Each waved to the crowd, circling about on their brooms, and Bellatrix clapped along with everyone else. Everyone but Lord Voldemort. He sat in silence, nodding his head in acknowledgment when each of the English players gave a respectful bow or salute.

The match began, and as the players whipped back and forth along the pitch, Bellatrix tried her best to follow the course of the game. One Italian Chaser took a hard hit from a Bludger and tumbled from his broom, landing hard on the sand pit at the bottom of the pitch.

"He'll be feeling that for some time," Voldemort noted dryly, and Bellatrix couldn't help but smirk. England gained a tactical advantage then, with Italy down a Chaser, and they racked up points quickly. In fact, they were leading one hundred to nil by the time Italy scored its first goal. Overhead, the Seekers buzzed about, looking for the Snitch and not seeming to spot it. Surely the match was out of reach for Italy now, Bellatrix thought. But then she saw the Italian Seeker take off as if she'd spotted something.

"She's got it," Bellatrix breathed. "She's going to get the Snitch!"

"Not if our own Seeker has anything to say about it." Voldemort gestured lazily to the English Seeker, a young wizard called Thurmond Morris, who whizzed off in pursuit of his Italian counterpart. The crowd began to holler, to cheer on their respective Seekers as it became obvious that the fate of the match was about to be decided. Bellatrix gripped the arms of her chair tightly, leaning forward to be able to see as the Seekers zoomed down near the ground.

"I thought you had no interest in Quidditch," Voldemort teased, and Bellatrix shot him a surly look.

"I don't," she insisted. "Not really. But it's the end of the match."

"Then it would seem you have at least some interest in Quidditch," Voldemort smirked. Bellatrix dared to roll her eyes at him a bit. Then there was a mighty roar, and she flicked her eyes back to the pitch. She could see at once what the source of the outcry was. The English Seeker, Morris, was soaring about more slowly, holding the Golden Snitch triumphantly aloft.

"With his capture of the Golden Snitch, Seeker Thurmond Morris has ended the match," said the Amplified voice of Rabastan Lestrange, who was calling the play. "The final score is two hundred and fifty to ten. It is a victory for England. Many thanks to our friends from the Italian wizarding community for their efforts today and for joining us in this tournament. Please travel home safely."

The cheering and celebrations continued, and Voldemort shrugged a bit at Bellatrix.

"Well," he said. "That's that, eh? Optics achieved."

"My Lord!" The blustery voice of Abraxas Malfoy came bursting into the box, and Bellatrix flew from her chair and whirled round. Voldemort rose more calmly, more slowly, and at once Bellatrix could tell that he was inside of Abraxas Malfoy's head. Malfoy nodded.

"I just received the news this morning. It's chaos."

"America," Bellatrix said with disbelief. "Roche has done it, then? She's carried out the coup?"

"She tried," Voldemort said sharply. He turned his face to Bellatrix and said, "Sabine Roche is dead. Killed in a battle with anti-Rappaport members of MACUSA."

"The Headquarters are destroyed," Abraxas added. "Our spy survived the battle, but he says the entire interior of the Headquarters were smashed, obliterated, or burned. The two factions have retreated to respective base camps. The Anti-Rappaports have established a new de facto headquarters in Washington, DC. Roche's side - absent her and a few others that were killed - have gone to the city of Philadelphia."

"Will there be war?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort nodded.

"Almost certainly. America is a country prone to and ripe for civil strife, both Muggle and Magical. What will happen now is that those who share our goals will fight against those who wish for Muggle integration."

"And do we mean to intervene in any way, My Lord?" asked Abraxas Malfoy. Voldemort shook his head. Behind him, the crowd continued celebrating England's victory, oblivious to the political machinations happening in their leaders' box.

"No. We're not going to step in until they've sorted it out for themselves," Voldemort said firmly. "Let them hack each other to bits. If the movement Roche started emerges victorious, they'll have our unwavering support. If the Anti-Rappaports come out on top, we'll sever all diplomatic ties. I've already had Cygnus Black pull out all financial investments."

"Very good, My Lord. I'll keep in close touch with our spy," Abraxas Malfoy said. "We shall see how their chaos resolves itself."

"If it does not resolve itself," Voldemort said carefully, "We'll consider plans to accommodate American wizarding refugees who value Magical blood purity. And we'll consider plans to pounce on their decimated economy. But all that will come later. Go, Malfoy. I don't want this conversation to linger. Come back to me when you have more information."

"Yes, My Lord," Abraxas said obediently. He turned to Bellatrix and bowed his head. "My Lady."

Once he'd gone, Bellatrix stared up at Voldemort for a moment, trying to feel what he was feeling. Excitement. Anticipation.

"You're not worried," she noted, and he shook his head.

"The instability was evident when we were in New York," he said simply. "There is no easier prey than a fox eating its own tail. We'll use their anarchy to our advantage."

Bellatrix didn't doubt that. And, after today's Quidditch match, she didn't doubt his absolute grip on Britain, either. The ear-splitting cheers of approval were still ringing in her ears by the time they got home to Archer's Edge.

"They adored you," Bellatrix noted as she stripped off the last of her clothes and made her way to the black tiled shower. She turned on the taps and stepped inside, and Voldemort leaned against the wall outside the shower as she began to lather shampoo into her hair.

"I'd never felt anything quite like that," he admitted. "The teeming masses roaring out their devotion to me. It was… it was…"

"Miraculous?" Bellatrix completed for him, and she could see through the foggy glass as he nodded.

"It was affirming. Satisfying. It brought me pleasure unrivaled by anything but you."

Bellatrix stood facing the hot water, letting the conditioner soak into her curls, and she murmured,

"You didn't have to hold my hand."

"I'll do whatever I damned well please, Madam Black." Usually he said those particular words with venom in his tone, but just now they were strangely gentle. Bellatrix rinsed the conditioner from her hair and asked,

"If the Anti-Rappaports win in America, do you really think there will be blood purity refugees?"

"Yes, I imagine so," Voldemort said. "Americans are crass and obnoxious, but it wouldn't be the worst thing if some of them enriched our own pool. Things have gotten a bit inbred these last few generations."

That was true, Bellatrix knew. Her own sister, Narcissa, was seriously considering marrying Lucius Malfoy, whose mother was closely related to Druella Black. The degrees of separation for eligible spouses were shrinking all the time. Perhaps an injection of solidly Magical American blood would be good.

"Of course, we don't want the Anti-Rappaports to win," Voldemort pointed out. "If they do, it sends the message that the cause of integrating Muggles is right and victorious. That is a poisonous message."

"And you don't think intervention is the answer?" Bellatrix asked. He was silent for so long that she stammered, "I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't give political -"

"No, it's not that. It's just… the reality, Bella, is this. Despite the roar of approval you heard today at the Quidditch match, my reign is new and largely untested. Your own sister - well, the Mudblood and his wife - broke into our home. Ophelia Yaxley is dead. I can't be sending my own valuable wands over to America to fight their battles. They've plenty of wands of their own. It's up to them to fight it out. All we can do from here is hope the right side comes out on top."

Bellatrix nodded and scrubbed at her skin with a bar of soap. "I have no doubt, My Lord," she said firmly. "I believe the right side always wins in the end."

Voldemort let out a dark, low laugh, and he told her, "You see? This beautiful optimism you possess… this Dark but unfailing faith in the right path… it is one of the things I love the most about you."

Bellatrix shut off the shower taps and opened the door, giving him a cheeky grin as she asked, "What else do you love most about me?"

He put one hand on her bare hip and the other on her breast.

"Everything," he whispered, bending to touch his lips to hers. He pulled back and said more seriously. "I was honoured to have you beside me today."

"They were cheering you, not me," Bellatrix mumbled, but Voldemort tipped her chin up and kissed her again.

"They were cheering victory," he insisted, "and someday they'll understand how very much you've had to do with that victory. Now, go put on a nightgown, little thing. You're shivering like a leaf."

* * *

 **Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **19 December 1971**

 _"Bella, do you know how long I've waited for this?"_

 _Bellatrix peeled off her bra and let Rodolphus fondle her breasts as she shook her head._

 _"No. How long?"_

 _"Since you were fifteen bloody years old," Rodolphus murmured. He bent to kiss Bellatrix, his thick hair falling in front of his bright young eyes as he did. He kissed her_ carefully, _like he was afraid she'd break, and when he stood up, he informed her, "I fell in love with you, and then they all told me I wasn't allowed to have you."_

 _"You can have me, Dolph," Bellatrix whispered. She snaked her arms around his shoulders, and he played with the serpent necklace she wore for a moment. He dragged his thumb over the little onyx stones and whispered,_

 _"He wouldn't have let_ me _have you. He'd have killed me if he'd ever seen us like this."_

 _"But he's gone, Dolph," Bellatrix assured him. She met his bright eyes and nodded. "I've loved you, too, you know. This whole long while. You've worked so very hard. You can have me now."_

 _"Bella…" Rodolphus shut his eyes and let out a long, shaking sigh, his hands trailing up and down Bellatrix's ribcage as she watched him go hard. His cock swelled up slowly as he fondled her body, and Bellatrix swallowed hard with want._

 _"I need you inside of me, Dolph," she told him, and he pushed her down onto the bed she'd shared with Voldemort before his disappearance. She moaned and arched her back when he pushed his cock into her, his hips rolling and his hands grasping. Bellatrix moaned like a whore. She liked this. She liked him. She came harder than she'd ever done, her skin sheened with sweat as she held fast to Rodolphus' lean forearms. When he came inside of her, he groaned her name over and over, chanting it like a prayer._

 _Bella, he was saying, like the name had been his to say for ages. Sweet Bella, beautiful Bella, my Bella._

Bellatrix sat straight up, her curls plastered to her face with cold sweat as she gasped. She felt acutely nauseated, and she covered her face with her hands as she desperately tried to erase the vision she'd just dreamed.

"Get out of my bed," came a whisper from beside her, and when Bellatrix peeled her hands away from her face, she saw Voldemort's angry, stone features glaring up at her in the dim light.

"What?" she asked, and he sat up slowly, tipping his head.

"Are you deaf, stupid, or disobedient?" he snapped. "I told you to get out of my bed. Now."

Bellatrix shook her head desperately and reached for his hand. He yanked it away, looking repulsed, and Bellatrix assured him, "My Lord, I didn't come up with that?"

"No?" He sneered at her and shrugged. "So it's my head that cooks up such things, is it?"

Bellatrix didn't answer him. She just obeyed him, doing as he'd twice commanded. She rose from the bed, feeling cold at once when she pulled herself from the weighty blankets. She wrapped her heavy velvet robe around herself and padded silently from the bedroom, making her way down the winding stairs to their offices. She opened the door to her own office and used her wand to light the lamps, pulling herself up onto the wooden bench beneath the windows.

She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, leaning against the stone wall as she stared out onto the moonlit moor. If it had been her own mind to dream up the explicit vision of Rodolphus, then she was very sorry for that. She didn't want Rodolphus. She hoped with all her heart that her husband knew that. She only wanted him. She only wanted Lord Voldemort. All the others were useless and empty and ugly and foolish compared to him. They were all inadequate and weak. There was only him.

"Bellatrix."

She turned her head at the sound of her name and was surprised to see Voldemort in the threshold of the office, a glass of red wine in each of his hands. He'd tied his own robe on, and as he stepped into Bellatrix's office and handed her a glass of wine, he noted,

"It was our bed. That's why I needed you to leave. I'm sorry."

Bellatrix just stared at her wine without taking a sip. She swirled it around a little and murmured,

"I could only ever want you."

"I know," Voldemort sighed. "You would have tolerated Rodolphus Lestrange; you would never have loved him. And you were repulsed by Tarquin Avery when you kissed him two years ago."

"I kissed him because I was empty," Bellatrix argued. "You'd left me hollow."

Voldemort sipped from his wine and nodded. "Well, I'm sorry for that, too."

There was a long silence, and finally, Bellatrix suggested helplessly, "Perhaps if you made love to me tonight, you could try and -"

"If I make love to you tonight, all I'm going to hear is your voice telling that boy that I was gone, and so it was fine for him to fuck you."

Bellatrix studied her husband's sharp features in the moonlight as he took another sip of wine. She set her own glass down on the wooden ledge and reminded him gently,

"It wasn't real. It was no more real than that dream you had where I died."

Voldemort smirked a little. "I can't quite figure which was worse."

"Does it matter? Neither was real." Bellatrix swung her legs off the bench and put her hands against the front of Voldemort's robe. She met his eyes in the moonlight and promised, "There's only you. There could only ever be you."

He'd said similar things to her before, she knew. She could feel uncertainty rolling off him, the idea that Bellatrix would someday realise she'd married an old man and would go for someone younger. Someone who would give her a child and be young enough to help raise it properly.

"I don't want a child," Bellatrix scoffed, shaking her head. "Not ever. I mean no disrespect, My Lord, but I don't want one from you or from anybody else. And what of it if you're forty-four? You're the ruler of all of wizarding Britain!"

"I'm very nearly forty-five," Voldemort pointed out, but Bellatrix tightened her fingers on his robe and reminded him seriously,

"During today's meeting with Malfoy and Yaxley, you told all of us that wizarding America is on the brink of complete collapse, and that you mean to shovel up the ashes for yourself."

"Mmm-hmm," Voldemort nodded. Bellatrix raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

"Do you not suppose, My Lord, that I find your ambition and your abilities powerfully attractive? Please. Please, look into my mind."

She opened herself up entirely then, feeling the dullest hint of his Legilimency as he sorted through the things she presented him.

 _Bellatrix lying awake at night in the Slytherin dormitory, her journal clutched to her chest as she waited for him to answer her. The flush of arousal and admiration she'd felt after seeing him kill Albus Dumbledore. Standing on their balcony in Spain, staring at him in the sunset and marveling at who and what he was. His hands pinning her wrists to the bed as he kissed her neck and ground himself against her body. Need. Love. Want. Fear._

Voldemort pulled out of her head and sipped the last of his wine, setting the empty glass on Bellatrix's desk.

"I won't kill him," he said, and Bellatrix knew he meant Rodolphus Lestrange. "I can't kill him, because… because for all the acrimonious thoughts I have toward him, he is a loyal servant. But I won't attend his stupid wedding."

Bellatrix chewed her lip and tried to sound respectful as she pointed out, "My Lord, if you don't go, he'll think he's done something to fall out of your favour. His father will be devastated, and so will Marya's. You've already said you would go. Everyone will whisper and gossip… about you. Please… you're too important for that. To let one dream ruin -"

He cut her off then, suddenly snatching at her wrists and yanking her toward the window. He sat on the wooden bench, beside Bellatrix's untouched glass of wine, and Bellatrix stood between his knees.

"Help me get rid of it," Voldemort said simply, and she knew exactly what he meant. He needed her to help erase the nightmare, to erase his jealousy. Bellatrix nodded and asked gently,

"Please, My Lord, will you please allow me to use my mouth on you?"

He nodded a little, pulling his robe open and yanking his pyjama trousers down a little. Bellatrix sank to her knees, pulling her trousers down more so she could rub at his thighs. He seemed to like that, the way she was caressing him, but his cock stayed soft where it lay flopped over. Bellatrix kissed him there, lapping her tongue around his wrinkled member. Voldemort's hands tightened on the edge of the bench, and his breath shook a little, but even as Bellatrix played with him, nothing happened. She used her hands, touching him everywhere that had ever triggered pleasure for him. When it was obviously not going to work, she set his flaccid cock down gently and stroked it for a moment, raising her eyes to him. She didn't need to look at him to feel the confused embarrassment coiling from his mind into hers.

"My Lord, may I have my wand, please?" Bellatrix asked, but he scoffed and shook his head.

"I'm not going to let you suck me off with an artificial erection, Bellatrix. If I can't get it up, then I'll just go back to bed. I'm sorry."

He shoved himself roughly back into his pyjamas, yanking them up and snatching Bellatrix's full glass of wine from the bench beside him. As he drank deeply from it, Bellatrix knew what the problem was. He couldn't stop replaying the image in his mind of Rodolphus Lestrange having sex with Bellatrix, and how the blazes was he meant to get an erection with that swirling through his head?

"Would you like me to Obliviate you?" Bellatrix asked, rising slowly from her knees. "I would be very careful."

"No." Voldemort set the half-empty glass of wine down and raked his fingers over his close-cropped hair. He finally reached for Bellatrix's fingers, rubbing at them and studying them in the moonlight as he said the same thing he'd said in the meeting earlier. "When America's wizarding community is really and truly broken, then I'm going to funnel wands and money into the Pro-Rappaport side. Lots of money. More money than they could imagine having."

"Because then when they win," Bellatrix nodded, "They'll be indebted to you. You'll be… what's the word? An emperor."

Voldemort tipped his head and noted, "There was a time when the American Muggle colonies belonged to the British Muggles. If they can do such a thing, surely I can."

"No doubt, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. She winced and hesitated as she asked, "Do you plan on attending Marya's wedding? If not, I should probably let her parents know."

"We'll go," Voldemort said, pursing her lips. "We'll go so that I can see him with his arms wrapped around some poor little girl who can't do any better. And so that he can see you with your arms wrapped around his master."

"That sounds perfect, My Lord," Bellatrix said firmly. She could still feel his humiliation about the aborted relations they'd initiated, so she dragged her fingers along his beard and whispered, "You're very handsome in the moonlight."

He didn't roll his eyes or question her or tell her she was flattering him. He couldn't, because he could feel her sincerity. Bellatrix studied his eyes and his cheekbones, his nose and his beard and the part of his chest peeking out from his robe, and she felt everything start to come alive inside of her. Voldemort squared his jaw, and Bellatrix said quietly,

"I get wet when I look at you."

"Do you?" he asked, reaching beneath the hem of her nightgown and pushing her knickers aside a little. Bellatrix nodded as his fingertips glided along her satin folds, the place where she was warm and damp just from staring at him. He snatched her right hand out of the air and smashed it against the front of his pyjama trousers, and Bellatrix felt at once that he'd gone hard. She smirked up and him and suggested,

"Upstairs?"

"Mmm-hmm." He pulled his hand from her quim and snared his fingers through hers, leading her out of her office and leaving the wine glasses behind.

* * *

 **Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **21 December, 1971**

"My Lord, are you quite certain I should wear this?"

Bellatrix's voice was uncertain as she called out from her dressing boudoir. Voldemort smirked as he buttoned up his tuxedo waistcoat, and he called back,

"I'm assuming you mean the tiara."

"The crown, yes," Bellatrix said rather dryly. Voldemort shrugged his formal black jacket on and told her,

"You are the consort of a man who currently rules all of wizarding Britain unquestioned, and may well soon have other territories to his name. You are an integral part of my government, a valued soldier, and my wife. Have you some sort of philosophical objection to a marker of your status?"

"I should think that merely being on your arm is a marker of my status," Bellatrix grumbled, but after a moment she sighed and admitted, "All right. It doesn't look half-bad once it's on."

"Let me see." Voldemort bent down to brush his wand over his shoes, to give them extra shine, and when he glanced up, he was speechless.

He'd often thought that she couldn't get any prettier, but here she was. He'd instructed her to have a showstopping gown made, and she'd obeyed him thoroughly. The plunging neckline of the gown revealed the elegant swell of her breasts. The sleeves and bodice were made of a material that looked suspiciously like black snakeskin, slick and shiny and scaled. The skirts, black raw silk with beaded trim, were gathered and swooped just so before gathering in a bustle behind her. Bellatrix's makeup was stark and aggressive compared to what she usually wore; she'd lined her eyes with heavy black kohl and had drawn her scarlet lipstick on quite carefully. Her hair was tied up high upon her head, but the curls had been allowed to tumble back down. She'd used smoothing creme or a spell, he reckoned, for her usually wild hair was tamed into perfect corkscrews. She wore her serpent necklace, of course, and pushed into her elaborate hairstyle was the new tiara Voldemort had had made for her. It was actually relatively simple, for it was the mere presence of such jewelry that was important. It was a smooth, sweeping cage of dull, brushed silver - no stones in sight. And yet it took Voldemort's breath away entirely.

She smirked where she stood and extended a hand to him. He ignored her and rose, ensuring his shoes had been properly shined. He knew she could feel his astonishment. He knew she could tell that he found her heart-wrenchingly beautiful. So for a moment, he said nothing at all. Bellatrix stepped right up before him and murmured,

"We should go… we'll be late."

"Of course we'll be late," Voldemort snapped quietly. "They must learn to wait for me."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes a little. "So you'll keep poor Marya Goyle, the daughter of my mother's sister, waiting in her wedding gown just so they all squirm?"

"It's nothing to do with squirming," Voldemort informed her. "It's everything to do with the idea that things happen on my time, when it is convenient for me. Not when it is convenient for them."

"All right," Bellatrix smiled. "So, how shall we pass the time before we go?"

"Well, I've more than half a mind to hike those skirts of yours up and slam you against the wall for a few minutes," Voldemort said, "but I have a feeling you'd be a bit cross with me mussing your hair and makeup."

Bellatrix giggled softly and glanced down at herself. "Are you certain I look all right?"

She wasn't fishing for a compliment, he could tell. She was genuinely nervous that she'd embarrass him, that she wouldn't be enough for him at an event like this. Voldemort frowned and forcibly shoved that thought away from both their minds. Bellatrix looked up at him, seeming a little confused.

"Did you just…"

Voldemort's mouth fell open and he shook his head a little. "I didn't want you thinking that you weren't enough. You're beautiful. More than beautiful."

"But you forced that idea away," Bellatrix marveled. She blinked a few times and asked him, "Do you suppose you could do that to me all the time? Make certain thoughts go away?"

Voldemort reckoned that if he could do that to her, she could do it to him, too. That was at once terrifying and intriguing. He pursed his lips and instructed her,

"Destroy what you feel from me."

She looked a little confused, but then he thought for a moment about the awful dream they'd shared a few nights earlier. He could hear Rodolphus Lestrange's breath huffing as he took Bellatrix's body. He could see her breasts swaying on the bed - their bed - as she stared up at Rodolphus. He felt positively ill with jealousy, with uncertainty and insecurity and anger. Then, with a slight whoosh, those sensations had gone. His rising pulse and quickening breath slowed and quieted, and the rage that had been boiling inside of him subsided.

"Interesting." Voldemort brushed his knuckles over Bellatrix's collarbone and said, "I suppose we don't really know what any of the limits are. Even that story in the book from your mother's house gave very little detail."

"I've done more research, My Lord," Bellatrix told him. "I've looked into mental links, mind bondings, everything like that."

"And what did you find?" Voldemort asked. Bellatrix sighed heavily and adjusted his bow tie a little.

"Nothing," she admitted. "Just a few more legends, most even less detailed than the one about the Moreaus. Any precedent seems to be exceedingly rare and very poorly documented."

"I can see why," Voldemort admitted. "I'm not about to go documenting this."

"No, indeed not," Bellatrix nodded. She frowned and said, "I was trying to think of examples in history where someone's magic might have been augmented by a powerful relationship with an ally."

"And who did you have in mind?" Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow, but Bellatrix didn't need to answer him aloud. He could feel her thought plain as day.

Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald.

"Perhaps that's why he couldn't kill him," Voldemort mused. "Or wouldn't. There were rumours that they were lovers."

"Do you think they were, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort licked his bottom lip carefully and said,

"I vividly remember when Dumbledore took Grindelwald down. It was legendary from the moment it happened. But I remember thinking to myself… what sort of a legendary duel takes a dangerous international criminal and puts him in his own tower? Why wasn't Grindelwald dead? At the time, I thought perhaps Dumbledore was just too much a coward to do it, but over time I started wondering if it was him. If it was Grindelwald that was the problem. There would be no real way, I suppose, of finding out whether any sort of…"

He trailed off then, for of course there was a way. Gellert Grindelwald was still alive, housed in Nurmengard. Bellatrix nodded and asked quietly,

"Do you think you'd actually gain anything helpful from speaking with him?"

"No," Voldemort said suddenly, shaking his head. "No, because even if he and Dumbledore had some sort of mental link, look at how it ended. No, we have nothing to learn from them. We're on our own."

"I'm all right with that," Bellatrix whispered, and Voldemort bent to press his lips to her forehead.

"I've kept your poor cousin Marya waiting long enough," he said. "Let's go."

* * *

 **Goyle Estate, Norwich**

 **21 December 1971**

"My Lord! My Lady." Mikhail Goyle bowed deeply where he stood in the foyer of his own grand home.

"My goodness, Goyle," Voldemort said lightly, "Why aren't you in the ceremony? We were very certain we'd have to sneak in and stand at the back."

Goyle's face went deep red, and he stammered. "Well… well, of course we weren't about to begin without you, My Lord."

"Oh, I do hope we haven't made anyone impatient," Voldemort drawled, and Goyle shook his head wildly.

"No! It's no problem, My Lord. Please, if you'll follow me just this way… My Lady. What an honour it is, truly, to have you both here. Roger Lestrange was elated to hear you'd be attending our children's wedding."

The man was babbling out of a tangle of nerves, Voldemort knew. He himself stayed cool and calm as he guided Bellatrix into the great ballroom. It had been dividing into halves, and they were led to the part where chairs had been lined up for the ceremony. Christmas decorations adorned the space, and Voldemort glanced around for a moment before pausing in the doorway.

"P-Please rise and give due attention to the Dark Lord and Madam Black," called Mikhail Goyle. Suddenly the whispers and murmurs in the room went utterly silent, and everyone in attendance flew to their feet. The witches descended into polite curtsies, and all the wizards bowed submissively. Voldemort nodded and said in a tight, cold voice.

"Good evening. Please sit."

He followed Goyle up to the front row of the chairs, and suddenly he remembered being at weddings with Bellatrix where they'd hidden in the back. Things were different now. He owned every space he occupied. This wedding was no longer about Rodolphus Lestrange and Marya Goyle. It was about Lord Voldemort. As Bellatrix sat beside him, she flashed a warm smile to her mother and her sister Narcissa. Lucius Malfoy was seated with the Black family, Voldemort noticed, and he thought Abraxas had probably been right that Lucius and Narcissa would quickly wind up together permanently. Dahlia Lestrange had come and was seated in the front row; Rabastan would undoubtedly be accompanying his brother. Dahlia was round and heavy with pregnancy now, and Bellatrix gave her friend a happy smile as she patted her own flat stomach.

Suddenly a flourish of trumpets sounded from the rear of the room, and Voldemort watched with muted interest during the fanfare as Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange and the ugly, bulky sister of the bride came out on the raised platform. Tudor Yaxley, who would be officiating, made his way to the centre of the platform. All three took a moment to nod politely to Voldemort. Then everyone was meant to stand, for the bride was being escorted down the short aisle. Mikhail Goyle and his wife, Bellatrix's aunt Jolena, walked arm-in-arm ahead of their daughter.

 _Oh, good. I managed not to outshine her,_ came a sudden thought from Bellatrix's mind. Voldemort turned to glance at her, and Bellatrix was admiring the long, elegant lace gown and veil her cousin wore.

 _Nonsense,_ Voldemort thought back, sending his mind straight into hers. _You're terrifyingly gorgeous, Bella. She's just a girl in a white dress._

Bellatrix appeared to be stifling a laugh then, and she did a fair job masking it straight into a warm smile. When the Goyles passed Voldemort, they bowed and curtsied, and Voldemort was rather surprised to see the bride herself pause and curtsy to him. He just nodded to her, the way he'd done to the others, and then everyone was meant to sit.

The ceremony seemed unnecessarily drawn-out for something that wasn't permanently binding, though of course Voldemort had sworn his soul to Bellatrix's for all perpetuity in their parlour one night. He wondered briefly which ceremony bore more meaning, and he couldn't help feeling a little guilty for never giving Bellatrix any of this fanfare.

I never wanted the dress. I wanted you, he felt her think, and he shut his eyes against how powerfully that notion struck him. Very much on instinct, he reached for her hand and threaded their fingers together, dragging his thumb over hers.

He felt no jealousy toward Rodolphus Lestrange now. Seeing the boy, scraggly and so weak in comparison to Voldemort himself, made their shared dream seem very silly. Rodolphus giggled like a child when he struggled to fit Marya's ring on properly. Marya stared at him like he was a work of art, and he seemed to have eyes only for his new bride. If he was thinking about Bellatrix in any way, it was far from obvious. Voldemort was watching two people who were in love marry one another. Whether one of them had once coveted his own wife had no bearing now. Rodolphus Lestrange, he knew, was no threat to him. He was no threat to his power, and he was no threat to his marriage. As if she could feel all of Voldemort's sensations and wished to ease them, Bellatrix squeezed at Voldemort's hand and thought very purposely,

 _Ego Uxorem, My Lord._

He smiled a little to himself, wanting nothing more then than to take her home and kiss every inch of her skin. Instead, he made himself clap with the others whilst Rodolphus and Marya kissed. For some reason, it helped to see the boy kissing a witch who was not Bellatrix. Voldemort had half a mind to cast some wandless fertility spells on Marya so that she'd conceive straight away, but he thought the better of it.

During the reception, Voldemort discovered that he and Bellatrix had been given the places of honour at the centre of the head table. Those places, of course, were almost always reserved for the bride and groom, but tonight Voldemort was the most important person in the room. Mikhail Goyle was the first to give a toast.

"Marya, my dear and beautiful daughter, I know you will be happy with Rodolphus, that your lives will be fruitful, and that you will do right by your heritage and your people. Let us all raise our glasses with well-wishes for Marya and Rodolphus, and most especially to thank the Dark Lord and Madam Black for their presence here tonight. Cheers."

"Cheers!" called everyone in the room. Bellatrix sighed a little from beside Voldemort, very evidently uncomfortable with how much attention they were getting. Roger Lestrange's speech was nearly identical to the father of the bride's. Voldemort sensed that they all wanted him to say something, so he slid his chair back and rose, his glass of wine in hand. Everyone in the room looked halfway between awed and terrified as he turned his attention to Rodolphus and Marya.

"Rodolphus Lestrange," Voldemort said smoothly. "There was once a time when everyone was very certain you were going to marry a witch named Bellatrix Black."

Bellatrix sucked in air hair beside Voldemort, and the air in the room felt incredibly weighty all of a sudden. Rodolphus looked frightened, probably remembering the time Voldemort had directly threatened to kill him for thinking about Bellatrix. Voldemort tipped his head and continued,

"Lucky for me, and lucky for Bellatrix, and lucky for you, and lucky for Marya… those days are gone. Things work out the way they're meant to do. You marrying Marya Goyle is what was meant to happen, you understand?"

It wasn't a rhetorical question, but Rodolphus still hesitated a half second before he nodded. "Yes, My Lord."

"Marya." Voldemort turned his attention to the pale-faced, pretty bride beside Rodolphus. "Make this wizard happy. Make him love you more each day than he did the day before. It sounds maudlin, I know, but I promise you that it is possible. I speak from experience."

He glanced over his shoulder to Bellatrix and then raised his glass of wine. "To the health, longevity, loyalty, and happiness of Rodolphus and Marya Lestrange. Cheers."

"Cheers." Everyone in the room said, but this time they all sounded more than a little afraid.

 _Did you have to do it like that?_ Bellatrix's thought flew at him, wild and almost angry. He scowled at her for a half second and whispered,

"Yes. I did. Eat your food."

An hour later, he had her out on the dance floor, moving smoothly with her and remembering other times they'd danced.

"The first time, the first real time, was the eighteenth of June, 1969," Bellatrix noted quietly. When he frowned in confusion, she specified, "It was the first time I'd ever cast a Cruciatus Curse, and afterward you gave me a necklace and you turned on the Wireless and asked me to dance with you."

He quirked up half his mouth. "I suppose I thought it was that first Christmas party."

"We didn't dance that night," Bellatrix reminded him. "We just talked and kissed."

"Nothing wrong with talking and kissing," Voldemort insisted, swaying carefully. "What did your mother and sister think of your tiara?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and smiled a bit. "Narcissa's jealous, of course. Lucius is the son of the Minister, but she's jealous just the same. I think my mother is terrified that someday she'll regret having called me your concubine."

"It was a foolish thing for her to say," Voldemort nodded. Bellatrix looked right at him and whispered,

"I'm craving something."

"Are you?" Voldemort pressed into her mind with ordinary Legilimency and asked her, "What is it that you want, little thing?"

In her mind, he had her tied up to their bed and was teasing her body. Using heat and cold from his wand, kissing her breasts until she squirmed, making her finish by using his mouth. And he'd taken Girding Potion, he could tell. He would take her, then tease her, then take her again. Voldemort pulled out of Bellatrix's mind and huffed,

"It would indeed seem as you are… craving something."

"I'll take whatever you'll give me," Bellatrix murmured wickedly, and Voldemort tipped his head.

"I'll give you every bit of what you just showed me. And more. Let's finish this dance, and then we'll go home, and by the morning you'll be hoarse and sore and needing a day off from your secretarial duties."

* * *

 **Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **21 December 1971**

Bellatrix's breath shook through her teeth as she stared up at the ceiling. She sank into the feeling of the ropes around her wrists and ankles, the ties that were binding her to the heavy wooden posts of the bed.

"Comfortable?" asked Lord Voldemort, and when Bellatrix nodded silently, she felt his weight sink onto the bed beside her. He looked awfully full of himself as he showed her the bottle of Girding Potion he'd taken from their stores. He popped open the top and tipped the bottle back into his mouth, chasing it with a glass of water he had on the table beside the bed. He set the glass and the bottle back down, and suddenly Bellatrix could feel the vibration of stamina and energy flowing through him. She shut her eyes, a little overwhelmed by it all.

Suddenly she could feel his breath on her lips, and she realised he'd lowered his face to hers. He touched his mouth slowly against Bellatrix's and murmured,

"I'm going to wear out every single part of you."

That made Bellatrix moan quietly, and she arched up toward him, seeking contact and attention. But he just stood from the bed and slowly started taking off his tuxedo. Bellatrix watched him, growing more aroused with every piece he removed. His bow tie, his jacket, his waistcoat and dress shirt… the trousers and socks and shoes and underwear… each piece was removed carefully, slowly, and put on a nearby armchair. Once Voldemort was naked, his half-hard cock looking more eager by the moment, he came back to the bed. He sat beside Bellatrix and dragged his fingers around her breast as he informed her,

"If you want me to stop - really and truly want me to stop - then tell me Enough. You understand?"

"I understand, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. She wouldn't want him to stop, she thought. She sucked in air as his fingertips traced the curve of her left breast and tweaked her nipple. He bent down and began lathing his tongue over her right nipple whilst his hand cupped her more carefully on the other side. His mouth moved smoothly and gently at first. His hand kneaded at her flesh, squeezing her just enough to elicit a little cry. His tongue just rubbed and massaged at her nipple, and soon enough it was as though Bellatrix had fallen into a trance.

It was rhythmic and careful and not at all impatient. In his mind, she could feel a deep and urgent arousal, but he was biding his time. He was worshipping her breasts now, his hand starting to knead more deeply and his mouth transitioning to a suckling motion. He even dragged his teeth over her nipple, which only served to make Bellatrix yank at her bindings. She wanted to course her fingernails over his short hair. She wanted to stroke his beard. But all she could do was whisper desperately,

"My Lord… My Lord…"

He surprised her then by straddling her and pushing his erect cock down the centre of her chest. He pulled her small, soft breasts around the shaft of his cock and started to rock his hips, his hands squeezing at her flesh tightly. Bellatrix whimpered at the sight of his tip hurtling toward her over and over again. She wanted him to come all over her, she realised. She wanted it on her neck, on her face, even.

"Please…" she whispered, and Voldemort quickened his hips.

"Please what?"

"Please put it all over me," Bellatrix begged. Voldemort breathlessly released her breasts and stroked a few times at his cock, tipping his head back. Bellatrix felt his orgasm detonate, powerful and hot and white in his body. His seed leapt forth in milky ropes and landed everywhere. From Bellatrix's forehead to her sternum, she suddenly had trails of his come all over her skin. She licked her bottom lip and tasted the bitter metallic tang of it, moaning deeply as she realised how aroused he was by what he'd done. He stared down at her, his fingers shaking as he touched the pool of his seed that had gathered near the crook of her neck.

It was too much. His intense pleasure, physical and mental, combined with Bellatrix's own sensations to push her straight over the edge. She came right there, without her womanhood ever being touched. She came whilst covered in Voldemort's essence, with him hovering above her. He could feel it, she knew. He could feel the way her body was clenching and cinching, the way her mind had been flooded with satisfaction.

" _Tergeo_ ," she heard him incant, his wand trembling a little as it dragged through the air above her. The white fluid that had speckled her was siphoned up, and Voldemort's throat bobbed visibly as he set his wand back down. He slithered further down the bed until he was between Bellatrix's legs. She drove her head back against the pillow as she realised what he meant to do. He bent and started kissing the inside of her right knee, his lips trailing up her leg one kiss at a time. The scratch of his beard on her inner thigh was intense and wonderful, and Bellatrix pulled again at the ropes that were loosely binding her to the bed.

Voldemort put his hands on Bellatrix's hips and pulled his tongue up the inside of her upper thigh. When she hissed with want, he asked quietly,

"Do you like it when I do these things to you?"

"More than anything, My Lord," Bellatrix said honestly. He raised his eyes to her and tipped his head, which was very attractive given where he was.

"You like it even though I'm just a dirty old man?" he asked, his voice halfway between mockery and uncertainty. Bellatrix scoffed and insisted,

"You are not a dirty old man. You are the Dark Lord himself, and I love you very much. Now, please, please, please will you keep going?"

He chuckled, his voice a low rumble against her skin. He pulled his tongue from the bottom of her womanhood all the way to the top, and Bellatrix's back arched at once. She yanked at her wrists, desperate to hold his head. He pulled his tongue up again, so slowly that Bellatrix wondered how he was finding the self-control to pace himself. Again, and again, and again he did it. Slow, deep, careful. Finally, when Bellatrix was panting and thrashing, he sucked on her clit. He repeated the process, pulling up in a long strong and then sucking a little. His fingers tightened on her hips, and Bellatrix suddenly realised that he liked this. He liked the taste of her, the musky, heady feel of her near his mouth. His cock was throbbing desperately, she could tell. He needed to come again, but he wanted her to finish first.

That wasn't a problem, as it turned out. With enough of the deep stroking and little suckling motions, Bellatrix had no choice but to finish. She was breathless and thirsty and warm as her body climaxed around his tongue. She was flush with satisfaction, then immediately filled with the intense need her husband's body possessed. He sat up and quickly moved to undo the ties around her ankles, releasing her legs so that he could bend her knees. He arranged himself above her and pushed straight into her sopping entrance, his hips bucking frantically at once.

Bellatrix remembered the time that he'd seemed out of control, after he'd set the Basilisk loose on Hogwarts. That had been different; the sex had felt robotic and necessary. There was something fundamentally different about their mutual arousal tonight.

"It is different," Voldemort whispered from above her. "Even with the Girding Potion, it's different, because… Bella, don't you know I'd make love to you forever if I could?"

Her eyes welled unexpectedly at that. His hips stilled and his face contorted a little as he came again. The sensation of his climax hurtled straight into Bellatrix's body, though she experienced it only as a wave of pleasure. He pulled out of her body and picked up his glass of water from the table. He took a sip and carefully propped Bellatrix up to give her some. It still dribbled down her chin and onto her chest, and Voldemort set the glass down, seizing the opportunity to lap the water up off her skin. Bellatrix squirmed a little and admitted,

"My arms are getting unpleasantly sore."

Voldemort Vanished the ropes with wandless magic, once again amazing Bellatrix with his seemingly endless skill. He bent to kiss her forehead and whispered,

"Roll over, little thing, onto your stomach."

She obeyed him, curious about what he meant to do. She sighed and relaxed her head against the pillow when she felt his lips planting careful kissed all over her back. His hands kneaded at her backside and thighs, and he kept at it for so long that Bellatrix thought she might fall asleep. But then her hips were being pulled up and back, and Voldemort pushed his cock into her from where he was kneeling.

This angle was intense, Bellatrix realised at once. She was almost flat against the bed, so his thrusts went straight for the front of her quim. The grinding sensation was so pleasurable that she found herself grasping at the blankets and crying out loudly into the pillow. She wasn't usually this loud during sex, she knew, but she couldn't stay silent. Not when each thrust was so deep and powerful. She felt Voldemort holding fast to her backside. She heard his own voice in a low whine behind her. But her thoughts were a blur, blending with his into a chaotic white swirl of thrill and bliss.

 _Beautiful girl,_ she could feel him thinking. _Powerful, beautiful, intelligent, wondrous little thing. Mine. Perfect and all mine._

She sent an idea back toward him with every bit of focus she could muster. She projected toward him how much she adored each part of him. His body, with all its markers of having lived nearly forty-five years. His mind, sharp and quick and unyielding and brilliant. His magic, unparalleled and terrifying. His ability to woo and shape others. His politicking. The way he'd taken to writing her letters in her journal each day. Even if they were short, she valued them. Just yesterday, he'd written a single line that had meant the whole world to her.

 _Good morning, little thing. You are positively everything to me._

Even now, as he pushed into her at exactly the right angle, Bellatrix thought of the little note and found herself on the verge of tears. Voldemort leaned down, his hips still pumping, and he whispered into her ear,

"I love you, Bella."

She just nodded, unable to stave off her climax any longer. She pounded at the mattress with her fists and practically screamed into the pillow, feeling completely exhausted as the orgasm rocked through her and then subsided. She squealed and wriggled her hips as Voldemort groaned loudly and filled her once again, his seed pumping into her for the second time as he growled her name from between clenched teeth.

After they'd both come down from the overwhelming high, Bellatrix slowly rolled over, and Voldemort lay beside her. He poked at his softened cock a little and murmured,

"Even with Girding Potion, I believe that's all I have, little thing."

"That was plenty," Bellatrix assured him. He turned his head toward her and smirked, twining one of her curls around his finger.

"You think I went too far with the little toast I gave to Rodolphus Lestrange," he said, and Bellatrix huffed a little sigh.

"I think you were threatening him at his own wedding, My Lord," Bellatrix said, "which seemed unnecessary because he is so very evidently happy with Marya. But I understand why you did it."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Voldemort asked, quirking up and eyebrow, and Bellatrix nodded.

"It was yet another opportunity to ensure that your authority is unquestioned. Humiliation is a powerful tactic for yielding obedience."

"Quite so." Voldemort looked very pleased with her, and he tucked her hair behind her ear as he said,

"I think a British delegate should go back to New York. Around mid-January."

"You think that by then the Pro-Rappaports will have won?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort shook his head.

"No. I think that, even with our injections of funding, the Pro-Rappaports will lose. I want to extend the message of goodwill to any American pro-Rappaport refugees. I want to establish a Department of Refugee Resettlement at our Ministry, and I'd like for you to head it up."

Bellatrix suddenly realised exactly what he meant. She swallowed hard and said, "It wouldn't do for Lord Voldemort himself to go appealing to potential refugees, but if his wife, who's heading the new Ministry department, went…"

Bellatrix felt a bit queasy. She shut her eyes and shook her head.

"My Lord, I can't fly there and back all alone. I can't… meeting with the families? Representing your government? Surely you can send Malfoy, or Yaxley, or -"

"I only trust you," Voldemort said sharply. "I need to stay here. It'll be a quick trip. I know you can do this. I trust you, Bella. I have complete faith in you."

Bellatrix gnawed on her bottom lip and nodded. She pulled herself from the bed and started toward the bathroom, thinking she was in desperate need of a shower.

"You'll have to help me understand more about navigating the Muggle world on my own," she told him as she opened the bathroom door.

"You'll be more than adequately briefed," Voldemort assured her. He looked her right in the eye and said again, "You are the only one I trust to carry out this mission."

Bellatrix leaned on the threshold of the bathroom door. She felt terrible fear and anxiety rippling through her, but then the sensations were forcefully shoved away. He'd done that, she knew. She smiled crookedly and said,

"I wonder if our minds will be this connected over so great a distance."

Voldemort shrugged. "Only one way to find out. Go take your shower."

Author's Note: Okay, I was so anxious to get this chapter written that I found a way to do it in the backseat of a car, at night, on an iPhone. SO! I promise this will be my last sloppy chapter before I get back to my beloved laptop. Haha. Thanks so very much for your patience while I've been on vacation. Thanks as always for reading and for any feedback.

* * *

 **Heathrow Airport, London**

 **13 January 1971**

"You're going to be just fine," Voldemort murmured as he and Bellatrix walked through the terminal's double front doors. Beside him, Bellatrix was nervous. He could feel it rolling off of her like ocean waves. She just nodded and said quietly,

"I'll do my very best to serve you properly, My Lord."

"No more talk like that," Voldemort warned her, for they were nearing the check-in desk. He'd booked her on a different airline this time than the last time round, so he wasn't entirely certain if the procedures would be the same. That was why he'd insisted on accompanying her all the way to the gate, as far as he possibly could. She would be fine, of course. He had all the confidence in the world in her. Just the same, he marched straight up to the desk and told the Muggle woman,

"Checking into Flight 986 to New York. The surname is Black."

"Very good, Mr Black," grinned the Muggle woman, flicking through a file of alphabetised tickets. She pulled one out and glanced from Voldemort to Bellatrix. Her shiny grin faltered for a moment as she said, "I'm so sorry, but I've only got the one. Are you quite certain you've booked two seats?"

"No; I'm not going," Voldemort said quickly. "I'm just walking her to the gate."

"My, what a caring father you have, Miss Black," smiled the woman. Voldemort's mouth fell open in horror, but he said nothing. He felt his heart race with anger and knew that Bellatrix would feel it, too. The oblivious Muggle woman said cheerfully, "If I could just see your passport for verification, Miss Black?"

Bellatrix rather slammed her forged Muggle passport on the counter and snarled, "Husband."

The Muggle woman took the passport and blinked, her pasted-on smile suddenly very uncertain. "I beg your pardon?"

"He's not my father. He's my husband," Bellatrix said, though Voldemort mentally willed her to just be silent and ignore the Muggle's ignorance.

"Oh. Oh, dear me. I do apologise. How very presumptuous of me," the Muggle woman blathered. Her cheeks were red as she flicked her gaze from Bellatrix's passport down to the ticket and up again. She handed the ticket and the passport back to Bellatrix and said tightly, "You'll be departing from Gate Twelve today, Mrs Black. Have a safe journey."

Bellatrix snatched her ticket and passport and huffed away, and Voldemort strode quickly after her. Once they were walking down the wide terminal corridor, he murmured gently to her,

"How was she to know? I'm a greying man without a wedding ring who shares your last name."

"Ha! So that obviously means you're my father," Bellatrix scoffed. She shoved her passport into her Expanded carpetbag and reminded him, "Age is utterly irrelevant; my father's seven years younger than you!"

Voldemort gritted his teeth a bit. He didn't need reminding of the fact that he'd just turned forty-five whilst Bellatrix's own father was only thirty-eight. Sometimes he was so tempted to just brew up some Surripiotempus Potion and go back to the idea of presenting himself as a thirty-year-old. It had been easier that way, he thought.

"I like you like this," Bellatrix said quietly from beside him, and he realised she'd clearly felt his thoughts. They reached Gate Twelve, and as Bellatrix sank into one of the Bakelite chairs, Voldemort asked her,

"Are you hungry?"

"No. Thank you. I'll eat on the aeroplane," Bellatrix insisted. He nearly fought her on it, but then he could tell that it was nerves keeping her hunger at bay. He sat beside her and pulled her hand into his, glancing about to make sure no one was listening.

"The ten pre-eminent American Magical families," he prompted her, his voice little more than a whisper. Bellatrix nodded and recited,

"Whitlock. Mason. Weisman. McCreary. Townsend. Rizzo. Stoltz. Goldman. Mills. D'Aurora."

"Very good," he nodded. "Have you got their addresses?"

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered.

"The applications? My signed statements of goodwill?" Voldemort studied her face, and Bellatrix nodded crisply as she assured him,

"I've got it all with me. I'm going to go to the Townsend house in Connecticut first."

"When you check into the Waldorf Astoria," Voldemort began, but he was cut off by the abrasive, amplified sound of a stewardess barking,

"Attention Passengers: Flight Nine-Eight-Six to New York City will begin boarding momentarily. We will begin with first-class passengers in just a few moments."

"That'll be me," Bellatrix said, pulling out her ticket. Voldemort hurried to say,

"When you check into the Waldorf Astoria, it's already paid for. Tip everyone one dollar at a time. Be careful with their money; it all looks the same and you need to be certain about the number on the note."

"I'll be very careful. I promise," Bellatrix said, squeezing his hand a little. Voldemort felt a sudden surge of anxiety, and he instructed her,

"Check your journal as often as possible. I'm not certain that they'll work, but if they do, I want to be kept up-to-date very frequently."

"Of course," Bellatrix nodded. She patted her bag and promised him, "I have it all in here."

"We will now begin boarding our first-class passengers aboard Flight Nine-Eight-Six to New York City," barked the Muggle stewardess over the intercom. Bellatrix stood, and suddenly Voldemort could not keep himself from acting. He seized her face in his hands and crushed his mouth against hers, not caring one bit that all the Muggles in the gate area could see. He heard an elderly Muggle woman say teasingly,

"Get a room!"

He didn't care. He kissed her until he could feel her anxiety, for she had her ticket in hand and was meant to board the plane. Finally Voldemort pulled himself away and nodded once.

"Be safe," he commanded her. "Stay in touch as closely as you can."

I love you, he added inside his mind, for it felt like it meant more there.

"I love you, too. I'll be home soon," Bellatrix promised, reaching up and stroking his close-cropped jaw. She breathed a heavy sigh and walked past him, showing her ticket to the stewardess at the door. She paused inside the jet bridge and smiled a little at him, and Voldemort raised his hand for a moment to bid her farewell. He stood and watched her go. He stayed as the Muggles piled aboard the aircraft, and he hovered by a window as the aircraft door shut and the airplane began to pull away to taxi. He tipped his forehead against the window and willed her with all of his might,

 _Be safe, little thing._

* * *

 **Waldorf Astoria Hotel, New York City**

 **13 January 1971**

Bellatrix sat on the sofa in her suite's sitting-room, clutching a bowl of spaghetti as she watched the news on the television.

"In South Vietnam, we have a small bit of good news. A C-7 Caribou aircraft from the 459th Tactical Airlift Squadron crashed earlier today. Miraculously, all four crewmen aboard the aircraft survived. Yesterday in Iran, negotiations between oil-producing countries and oil companies got off to a somewhat acrimonious start as…"

Bellatrix turned her attention away from the television then, for the journal sitting beside her on the sofa had flushed black. She set her half-eaten spaghetti down on the low table before her and snatched up the journal. It was the first time it had gone black since she'd left England twelve hours earlier. She opened it at once, her heart racing when she saw her master's writing.

 _Did you make it safely to the hotel? I can't feel you. Not from this far away._

Bellatrix shut her eyes and reached out in the ether for him, but it was like groping blindly in a dark room. It was bizarre, she thought, that their mental bond seemed to possess a geographical limit while the journals did not. She picked up her black quill and wrote back,

 _I can't feel you, either. It's strange. I'm at the hotel. In fact, I'm sitting on the sofa in my plush hotel-issued bathrobe, eating spaghetti and watching the television. It's all terribly barbaric._

She smiled a little as she watched the words sink into the page. She knew the thought of her like this would amuse him. She wasn't going to go out into the American wizarding world until the next day, until she'd had a chance to rest from her long journey. New words appeared on the page, and Voldemort's script looked a bit more loose and free than usual. She wondered whether perhaps he was drunk.

 _What are you watching on television? More of that drivel about that obnoxiously perky woman?_

Mary Tyler Moore, he meant. Bellatrix chuckled and quickly wrote back,

 _No, My Lord. Just their news. Apparently, an aeroplane crashed in their war in Vietnam, but it's all right, because all the people aboard survived. And there are negotiations happening about oil of some kind._

 _How catastrophically dull,_ Voldemort wrote back at once. Then he wrote, _Did you use the telephone to call for room service?_

 _I did,_ Bellatrix wrote back, her hand flying across the page, but you neglected to tell me not to shout. I embarrassed myself, I'm afraid. The man on the other end of the line told me rather angrily that he could hear me just fine.

There was a long pause, and Bellatrix knew he must be laughing at her. When his words sank back up through the page, she knew he must be enjoying a bit of whisky, for they were a little uneven.

 _Eat your noodles and get some rest, little thing. I want you in top form tomorrow._

 _Yes, Master,_ Bellatrix wrote back. She hadn't called him that in a long time, for he'd told her it was too stilted and deferential for their marriage. She said it now almost mockingly, and she knew he'd understand. She shut the journal and picked up her spaghetti to finish it, chuckling to herself as the news ended and The Mary Tyler Moore Show came on the television.

* * *

 **Old Lyme, Connecticut**

 **14 January 1971**

Bellatrix shivered, even in her heavy woolen coat and leather gloves. Her boots crunched on the icy snow as she stepped up to the white wooden house before her. It was stately and elegant, but had a distinctly rural feel, situated here among the leafless trees. Bellatrix swallowed hard, her leather folio of documents gripped tightly in her left hand. When she reached the painted blue door, she rapped the brass knocker a few times and stomped her feet on the brick steps to stay warm. The blue door swung open, and a tall, thin witch with a cigarette in her hand cocked up a blonde eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" she asked, taking a drag on her cigarette. She was dressed nicely, but Bellatrix was astonished by the way this apparently-moneyed witch had answered her own door. Perhaps she had the wrong house.

"Are you… do I have the pleasure of speaking with Mrs Alexa Townsend?" Bellatrix asked carefully. The witch puffed on her cigarette again and nodded.

"Mmm-hmm. And who might you be?"

Bellatrix shivered again and wished that she would be invited inside. She sniffed lightly and steadied herself.

"My name is Bellatrix Black," she said confidently. When Mrs Townsend showed no recognition at the name, Bellatrix clarified, "I've come on behalf of the British Ministry for Magic. I'm the head of the Department of Refugee Resettlement, and I -"

"Wait." Mrs Townsend held her hand up and scoffed. "Refugee resettlement? You actually think that, just because of this stupid little coup Roche cooked up, that there are going to be American wizarding refugees?"

Bellatrix said nothing, suddenly feeling very foolish with her folio full of refugee applications. Mrs Townsend laughed and sucked hard on her cigarette. Bellatrix shivered harder than ever in the frigid air, and finally she said,

"Forgive my misunderstanding, Mrs Townsend. My husband and I were made to believe that you and your family were opposed the repeal of Rappaport's Law."

"Well, we are," Mrs Townsend said, pulling out her wand and Vanishing her mostly-smoked cigarette. She leaned on her threshold, still not inviting Bellatrix inside, and she said, "Here's the thing, and maybe you just don't really understand America, but… there are plenty of us who aren't happy mingling with the No-Majs. But that does not mean, not for one second, that we're going to leave our homes and haul off to England. As refugees? That's a joke, right? Americans - No-Maj and Magical alike - aren't refugees. If there's something we don't like in our country, we fix it. We don't run away. Who's your husband, anyway?"

Bellatrix struggled to stay calm and composed, realising just how futile her whole mission here was as she licked her icy lip and said, "My husband is Lord Voldemort."

"Huh." Alexa Townsend crossed her arms over her polka-dotted dress and said, "Isn't he a little old for you? I've seen pictures in the paper. Well, it doesn't matter. I mean, I think it's kind of pathetic that he sent his little teenage wife to try and pick up scraps from this little conflict. But know this, Bellatrix Black. The ones who destroyed MACUSA, the ones who are still fighting? They're extremists. They don't represent the wizarding public. The rest of us are going to either get our way or learn to deal with the fallout. But what we're not going to do is to pick up all our shit and move to England."

Bellatrix stood in silence for a moment, shivering hard as she studied Alexa Townsend's face. Finally she nodded at the witch in the doorway and said in a steely voice,

"I do apologise for wasting your time, Mrs Townsend. Have a wonderful day."

"Bye. Tell your husband to stay out of our business." Alexa Townsend closed the blue door in Bellatrix's face, and Bellatrix's shaking breath clouded in the cold air before her as she walked away in shock. She Disapparated back to New York, deciding that she would spend some time in the elegant bar at the Waldorf Astoria. She sank into a soft leather chair and listened to the gentle piano music playing among the low hum of conversation.

He'd been wrong.

Bellatrix had never thought that Voldemort could be wrong, but here she was, sitting in a Muggle bar, having been told by the witch who was meant to be an ally that Voldemort's plans for America were a joke.

He'd been wrong.

Bellatrix pulled her journal out of her handbag and surreptitiously Transfigured her black quill to look like a fountain pen. It would be less conspicuous, she figured, among the Muggles here. She quickly opened her journal and wrote,

 _My Lord,_

 _I am extremely sorry to report that my first meeting, with Mrs Alexa Townsend, was unexpectedly terrible. She refused to even admit me to her home, and she asserted that even those who are opposed to integrating No-Majs want to find a compromise in America. She claimed - very confidently - that there would never be any wizarding refugees from America. The last thing she said before slamming her door in my face was to tell you to 'stay out of their business.'_

 _Of course, I have yet to meet with anyone else, but I must admit I have a terrible feeling. I'm very sorry._

She shut her journal and set it aside, feeling a roil of nausea as the Muggle waiter stepped up before her. He was handsome, perhaps in his early thirties, and he surveyed Bellatrix with unmistakable hunger.

"Good evening, ma'am," he said with a rather flirtatious smile. "What can I get for you?"

Bellatrix was wholly unfamiliar with Muggle beverages, so she shrugged a little and asked, "What do you suggest?"

The waiter's eyebrows flew up. "English, huh? Very cool. Well… do you like mint?"

"Yes, I do," Bellatrix said honestly, and the Muggle waiter grinned.

"Then you'd love a Grasshopper. It's creamy, minty… goes down real easy. How's that sound?"

Bellatrix nodded. "That sounds fine. Thank you."

The waiter stepped away, and as soon as he'd gone, Bellatrix picked up her journal. It was black again, and for a half second, Bellatrix hesitated in opening it. She was terrified of what she'd find. She couldn't feel him now, but she knew what he must be feeling. Rage. He must be feeling rage. Finally she gathered the courage to open the journal, and inside her husband's writing was neat and tight.

 _If Alexa Townsend is that hostile, the others will be worse. Perhaps it is true what they say about Americans - that they are stubborn even in the face of utter destruction. I'm sorry I sent you. Go to the concierge and have him arrange a ticket for you on the next flight back to London. It isn't safe for you to stay if that's how they feel about us._

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows, surprised by how gentle his answer was. Perhaps, she thought, he was indeed furious, but not with her. In any case, she knew she ought to heed his command and go straight to the concierge. She shoved her journal into her bag and hurried out of the bar, knowing the Muggle waiter would be bringing a minty cocktail to an empty chair.

The concierge was helpful and considerate, and by the time Bellatrix was finished with him, she'd been booked over the phone on the red-eye flight leaving New York in three hours. She made her way upstairs in the elaborate lift, deciding to pack up her bag at once and head to LaGuardia Airport. She'd be better off, she thought, passing the time in a Muggle space.

The second she opened the door to her suite, she could tell that something was wrong. She shut the door behind her and pulled her wand out slowly. Suddenly two figures appeared out of her dining room - a twenty-something witch with ginger hair and a plump thirty-something wizard with skin the colour of coffee. The two of them had their wands out, too, and Bellatrix tipped her head just like Voldemort always did as she said,

"Let me guess. You're Aurors from MACUSA. Or what's left of it."

The witch nodded, and the wizard said simply, "Mrs Black, we have received intelligence that you've come to America on your husband's behalf to recruit refugees. We know your husband has injected money into the conflict."

Bellatrix scoffed. "You received intelligence. You mean that Alexa Townsend sent you an owl the moment I left her house."

The large wizard took a step toward Bellatrix, who tightened her grip on her wand, and he said, "You need to come with us, Mrs Black. We would prefer if this were done peacefully."

Bellatrix shook her head. "There will be absolutely nothing peaceful about my husband's vengeance if you arrest or injure me."

The witch raised her wand and said firmly, _"Expelliarmus."_

Bellatrix quickly deflected the spell and fired back with a yell. _"Stupefy!"_

The witch soared backward against the column separating the foyer from the dining room. She crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Bellatrix turned her wand at once to the wizard, and before he could utter a syllable, she shrieked,

 _"Avada Kedavra!"_

There was a blinding jade flash of light, and the large wizard toppled over, crushing the unconscious witch that Bellatrix had Stupefied. Suddenly she panicked, aiming her wand at the witch's legs that stuck out from beneath the dead wizard.

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," she incanted, her voice shaking fiercely. She recoiled in the green flash that burst from her wand, feeling afraid for the first time ever in the wake of that spell. She quickly Vanished both corpses and their wands, and she rushed around the suite shoving clothes and toiletries into her Expanded bag. Once she was certain she had everything, she Disapparated from the Waldorf Astoria, knowing she'd never see the place again.

She came to outside of LaGuardia Airport, and she pushed her way inside out of the cold. Before she got into the long, snaking check-in line, she sat on a slatted bench and pulled her journal out of her bag. The quill shook so badly in her fingers that for a long moment, she couldn't write. Finally, she scribbled,

 _Getting on a flight in a few hours. I'm at the airport. Two MACUSA Aurors were waiting for me in my hotel suite. I killed and Vanished them both. I'm sorry. My Lord, I have failed you and I am so profoundly sorry._

She shut the journal and her eyes, trying not to vomit on the ground as she tried desperately to process everything that had happened today. She focused on the din around her, on the rattle of conversations and cash registers and taxi horns and crying babies. When she finally opened her eyes, Bellatrix saw that the journal in her lap had gone black. She opened it, her hands feeling numb as she peeled the cover open and saw two simple words in the neatest script she'd ever seen.

 _Come home._


	2. Chapter 2

**Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **15 January 1972**

"Bring her in here when she gets home," Voldemort instructed their lead House-Elf, a scraggly thing called Bakky. The Elf nodded vigorously and bowed.

"Yes, Master. I'll bring her straight here, I will."

Voldemort stared out the window of the castle's largest parlour. He sipped at the dry red wine he'd poured himself and dragged his fingertips over his smooth jaw. She'd be angry, he knew, upon seeing that he'd shaven the beard. Or perhaps she wouldn't. Perhaps she would notice it and move on to talk of politics. Voldemort wasn't even entirely certain why it was that he'd shaved his face in the first place. This morning, when she'd been climbing onto an aeroplane in New York, he'd been so wracked with anger and anxiety that the only thing he could do was take a razor to his face.

He'd been wrong.

He'd been completely wrong about America. He'd misread the situation entirely. He'd been completely certain that Bellatrix would be swarmed with witches and wizards frantic to get to a country where blood purity was valued properly. But she'd written to him a few times from her flight explaining what had happened in greater detail. From the sounds of things, the remnants of MACUSA were determined to form a new, stable government that allowed for interaction with Muggles. It also seemed that even the most pro-Rappaport "civilians" were unwilling to walk away from their homes in the name of blood purity. It even seemed as though Bellatrix had faced outright hostility from both sides for who she was and who her husband was.

In the hours that Bellatrix had spent flying home, Voldemort had already met with Malfoy and Yaxley to address the situation and to put the Ministry on alert. He'd quietly dissolved Bellatrix's Department for Refugee Resettlement, which now seemed like a silly and futile exercise. He'd met with Cygnus Black III to insist that all funding be yanked from the American conflict.

From now on, Voldemort decided, he would focus on Britain alone. If the American Magical community crashed and burned, they would do so without any intervention from him. All diplomatic ties with whatever form MACUSA took were to be severed, Voldemort had told Abraxas Malfoy.

He'd been wrong. It was a terrible feeling, one of the worst feelings he could ever remember having. The sensation of having so terribly misinterpreted an enormous situation was humiliating and terrifying. The notion that he'd put Bellatrix's life at risk for a fool's errand was unbearable. He swigged at his wine and shut his eyes, listening to the tick of the clock on the mantle and the crackle from the fireplace.

"He's waiting in here for you, Madam," Voldemort heard Bakky's voice croak. His eyes flew open. Suddenly he was very aware of Bellatrix's presence in the castle. He could feel her, the way her mind was wound up tightly, a wire about to snap. Voldemort set down his glass of wine on the windowsill and rose from his armchair, adjusting his robes a little as he gnawed on his lip. The heavy wooden door to the parlour opened, and Bellatrix stood there looking exhausted. Her eyes were red and swollen, and he could tell she'd spent half the flight home crying quietly. That thought made his chest hurt a little, and as Bellatrix shut the door behind her, he shrugged and admitted,

"I miscalculated."

Bellatrix lowered her head and set her Expanded carpet bag down on the ground. She sighed and said carefully,

"I was more shocked than I can say about the reception I received in Connecticut, My Lord. Or lack thereof. I certainly was not expecting holdover Aurors to be alerted immediately, to find out from the front desk what suite I was in, to Apparate into that suite, and to try and arrest me. I don't suppose anyone saw that coming."

"You killed them both," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix raised her eyes to him. She nodded and said,

"I Stupefied the witch when she tried to Disarm me. The wizard I killed before he could throw anything my way. Then I took the witch out, Vanished both of their corpses and wands, and left as quickly as possible."

Voldemort's heart thrummed with something he had trouble pinning down. Finally he identified the emotion and told Bellatrix, "I am very proud of you. You handled yourself like a seasoned diplomat and a lethal soldier, over there all on your own in what turned out to be hostile territory. You wrote to me that you'd failed me. You didn't fail, Bellatrix. You exceeded any expectation I could have set for you. I am extraordinarily proud."

Bellatrix's eyes welled and she whispered, "All I ever want is to make you proud."

"I know." Voldemort stepped closer to her, picked up her right hand, and glided it over his newly smooth cheek. He tipped his head and asked, "Are you cross about the beard?"

Bellatrix shook her head. "I'm just happy to see your face, My Lord; I don't care how much hair is on it."

He kissed her then, unable to keep from doing so. For some reason, this kiss felt rejuvenating in a way few previous ones had done. He drank her in like she was water in the desert, his hands pawing over her back and arms as he massaged the roof of her mouth with his tongue. She didn't ask him why he'd shaved the beard that she had so often praised. She'd cried when he'd said he was proud. She'd killed skillfully to protect herself and to defend him. She'd handled the situation at the Townsend house in New Lyme with grace and a clear head. She was beautiful. She tasted divine. She was intelligent and able and wondrous, and suddenly he found himself pushing her back against the parlour wall.

"I love you," she whispered desperately against his mouth. He nodded, feeling quite breathless as he tried to untangle her thoughts from his in his mind. He gave up and let her see how appreciative he was of everything she was and all that she'd done. He bent to kiss her neck, and he sent a thought flying straight into her mind.

I can't exist without you, Bella. Not anymore.

She let out a little overwhelmed mewl, her fingers coursing over his short hair as he lathed his tongue against her neck.

"I thought you'd be furious with me," she whispered, and Voldemort scoffed against her skin. He moved his mouth to hers and kissed her again for a long moment before he finally pulled away and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"I could have sent someone with twenty years' more Ministry experience than you, Bella, and they would have botched it all entirely. This was an ambush, a catastrophe, and you handled it perfectly. You may mock that silver crown I had made for you, but you've earned it, you understand?"

Bellatrix blinked a little and hesitated. Then she told him, "I couldn't feel you when I was over there. I couldn't feel you at all. I hated that."

"Well. You're here now," Voldemort reminded her. He hadn't liked it, either. The feeling of emptiness in his mind where she had started to reside had been beyond uncomfortable. Now he could feel her there again, a warm glow like a candle, occupying her own segment of his consciousness. He embraced that warm glow for a moment, flicking through everything she was feeling. There was one experience nearly overwhelming everything else - fatigue.

"You're tired," Voldemort noted, lacing his fingers through hers and touching his forehead against hers. "Why don't you eat and go to bed? Sun's already down."

"Don't we need to debrief, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked softly, and Voldemort shrugged.

"What is there to debrief? I've already met with Malfoy and Yaxley. I've already met with your father. You've told me everything. The only way is forward. The only place that matters is here. Go eat. Get some rest. You've served me well, little thing."

* * *

Bellatrix slid between the blankets of the plush bed she shared with her lord and husband, only now realising how much more comfortable it was than the one in the Waldorf Astoria. Bellatrix folded her hands over her chest, finally breathing a deep sigh of relief. She'd genuinely feared Voldemort's wrath upon arriving home. As it turned out, he seemed irritated, surprised, and slightly defeated, but if he was angry, he wasn't directing it toward Bellatrix. Surely, she thought, he'd been shocked and disappointed as his dream of conquering more of the world dissolved. But there was a steely sort of cold determination about him now. Bellatrix had felt it in his kiss, in the way his arms had searched her body. She'd felt it in her mind. In their minds.

"Bella?"

She turned her head to see him ambling into the bedroom from the top of the stairs. He'd loosened his black tie, and he pulled off the tie bar she'd given to him three years earlier. That seemed like an eternity ago, she thought as she watched him set it on the bedside table.

"An eternity and an instant," Voldemort murmured. He pulled off his tie and Banished it to the wardrobe. Bellatrix watched him unbutton his black dress shirt and pull it off. She watched as he stripped off his trousers, as he kicked off his shoes. Normally, she would have felt a pulse of desire for him just from the sight of him stripping. Tonight, she felt a throb of admiration and loyalty she didn't quite know she possessed.

He stared at her for a moment from the bathroom as he cleaned his teeth. He dragged a washcloth over his face and snuffed out the lamps, climbing into bed beside Bellatrix. He pulled her fingers up to his face, to the shadow of scruff that would need shaving in the morning.

"Shall I grow it back?" he asked, and she knew he meant his beard. Bellatrix smiled a little at him and shook her head.

"You're Lord Voldemort," she said simply. "I can't command you to wear a certain tie, much less to shave or grow a beard."

"You command me more than you realise," Voldemort said seriously. That sent an odd shiver down Bellatrix's spine, and she found herself snuggling up against him.

"You must do whatever you please," she said. She snared her arm around his bare shoulders and insisted, "The Americans are fools. The witch in Connecticut was a vulgar, ignorant bitch. You're better than them. You deserve better than them. You deserve whatever you want, and I'll help you take it."

"Bella." Voldemort stroked at her hair and cast one heavy leg across her little body. "Bella, it's over. America was futile; I do not wish to discuss it ever again. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix suddenly found herself on her back with him rolling atop her. She wasn't quite sure why that was happening, why he was pulling her knickers and his underwear down. She felt like she was in a daze as he hiked up her nightgown and bent to kiss her breasts, as his mind pulsed against hers.

You've served me well, Bella, but it's over. My kingdom is here.

"Your kingdom," Bellatrix repeated breathlessly, feeling his fingertips graze against her womanhood as she slowly started to get wet. She found his eyes and asked him, "Is that what this is? A kingdom?"

"Well," Voldemort said, squaring his jaw and quickening his fingers, "apparently it's not meant to be an empire, so I mean to make it a damned good kingdom."

"And… ungh… and will you be the king, then?" Bellatrix asked, arching her back as he pushed himself into her body. He shook his head, and she felt him think,

No. I am Lord Voldemort, and that is more than enough.

"It's more than enough," Bellatrix agreed, clasping her hands together behind his neck as he rocked his hips against hers. His glittering dark eyes bored into hers, and she nodded as she whispered, "You're more than enough."

"Courageous little thing," he praised her, grunting and bucking his hips a bit harder. He came quietly, the flare of shared pleasure in their minds subtle and brief. He hovered above her for a long moment and added, "Loyal little thing. Brave and beautiful and terrifying little thing. You're never to leave me again, you understand?"

Bellatrix smiled sadly. "I only left because you sent me away."

He frowned. "Well. I shan't be making such a grave mistake again."

He wasn't just talking about her, she knew. He'd made a mistake not just in sending her to America, but in making assumptions about America. He'd been humbled by all of this. Bellatrix reached up to touch his cheeks and jaw, and she said gently,

"Do you know, I find that the hair on your face - or lack thereof - has absolutely no impact on how devastatingly handsome you are?"

He smirked and lay beside her as he said, "Devastatingly handsome. Hmph. And yet that Muggle wench thought I was your father."

Bellatrix stared at him until he turned his eyes back to her, and she said in a very serious tone, "You know I would die for you. A thousand deaths."

"I'd much rather that you just live once for me," he said. He reached beneath the blankets and took Bellatrix's hand in his, lying on his back and shutting his eyes. He lay there for a long moment before he finally said, "When you were gone, I dreamed you were pregnant."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and grumbled, "My Lord, I thought we'd -"

"Let me finish, will you?" he snapped, and she shut her mouth at once. He stared at the ceiling and said,

"You gave birth to the child and someone stole it away. Killed it."

"I don't believe it's generally good form to refer to a human baby as it," Bellatrix pointed out, for she was very uncomfortable. Voldemort ignored her.

"You wound up killing a hundred people to seek your revenge," he said. "When I woke up, I realised the dream hadn't been about a baby at all."

"No?" Bellatrix said nervously. "What was it about?"

"Me." Voldemort finally tipped his head toward her. "You'd never stop killing to protect this. To protect us. And neither would I."

Bellatrix squeezed at his hand a bit and asked carefully, "Do you remember the day you took my virginity in the Doxy's Nest?"

He laughed a little and reminded her, "You took my virginity, too, you'll recall. Yes. I vividly remember the occasion. Why?"

Bellatrix's breath shook a little as she said, "Just after you'd finished with me, you said… This means nothing, Bella. You understand? I am your master."

Voldemort winced a little, his voice tight as he insisted, "Circumstances changed. Obviously."

Bellatrix nodded. "It means everything to me now, you know. But you're still my master."

"No," Voldemort said harshly, reaching below the sheets for his underwear and starting to yank them back on. "No. Tarquin Avery can shiver in his boots in my presence. Abraxas Malfoy can take my Cruciatus Curse for displeasing me. Dissidents will be killed. To all the rest of them, I am their master. But you… you, Bellatrix…"

He pushed himself up onto one elbow, and for a moment their eyes locked and his throat bobbed and she was overwhelmed by the feeling of how much he loved her. It washed over her like an ocean wave, the sensation of powerful possessive affection that he bore toward her. She just nodded silently, not needing any more words from him. America was a lost cause. His kingdom was here. She would never leave him again. He dragged a knuckle beneath her eye and bent to touch his lips to hers.

"I'm very glad you had the skill and wit to get yourself home safely," he whispered. "Now, get some rest, little thing. You've all manner of secretarial duties to perform in the morning."

* * *

 **Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **20 January 1972**

"We have received secure communication, My Lord, from the Ministries in France, Italy, Japan, and several other nations affirming their support for your administration of Britain, regardless of what happens in America." Abraxas Malfoy passed a few parchments across the desk to Voldemort, and he nodded as he set them down on the desk. Bellatrix scribbled a few notes on her own paper from where she sat near Malfoy. She brought a fist up to her mouth and tried desperately to suppress a yawn. Voldemort frowned; she'd actually slept longer than usual the night before. He cleared his throat and asked Malfoy,

"Status report from Hogwarts?"

"By all accounts, My Lord, things at the school are better than ever," Malfoy said. "Lucius writes me every other day; he says that students and teachers seem quite content. Narcissa… erm…" He glanced at Bellatrix, who gave a few bleary blinks at the mention of her sister's name. Malfoy continued, "Narcissa Black gives him plenty of feedback from her position as a Prefect in the girls' dormitories. There are, of course, fewer Gryffindors than ever before, and a bit fewer Hufflepuffs. Slytherin is overrepresented. But Hadley Carrow wrote a few days ago to insist that next year's Sorting Hat ceremony will help work the balance out, given that the smaller pool of new students must all be Sorted. Old stereotypes may…"

He was distracted, Voldemort could tell, by how fatigued Bellatrix seemed beside him. Voldemort huffed a little sigh and nodded crisply to Malfoy.

"I'm glad to hear all's well at the school. Thank you for the diplomatic update. Ensure that our Aurors keep searching for those remaining Prewett cousins in hiding. I want them found within a fortnight."

"I'll light a fire beneath them, My Lord," Malfoy promised. "Is there anything else, Master?"

"No. You may go," Voldemort said firmly. Malfoy rose from his chair and bowed to Voldemort, then to Bellatrix.

"Good day, My Lord. My Lady."

"Minister," Bellatrix acknowledged in a sleepy voice. Voldemort waited in silence as Malfoy left the office and was escorted to the castle's main door by one of the House-Elves. Voldemort glared at Bellatrix, feeling utterly confused as she squeezed at one of her breasts and hissed in discomfort.

"What on Earth is the matter with you?" he snapped, and Bellatrix sighed as she said,

"I'm sorry. I'm very tired and sore for some reason. I tried to take the best notes I could, but -"

"You think I care one lick about your notes?" Voldemort demanded. He felt a sudden rush of terror, and he shut his eyes as he asked, "Have you vomited?"

"Vomited?" Bellatrix repeated. When Voldemort opened his eyes, she shrugged and said, "Early this morning and yesterday… just a few times. Thought perhaps I'd come down with something in America."

"Oh, Bella," Voldemort whispered, feeling queasy himself. Bellatrix looked very frightened, and she shrugged.

"What? What is it?"

He tipped his head. "Really. Was this not part of the curriculum at school?"

Bellatrix's mouth fell open. He knew she could feel what he was thinking. Pregnant. She was pregnant. Bellatrix shook her head vehemently and flew up from her chair, holding her hands up in the air defensively.

"No. No, no, no. Absolutely not. That's not possible; I use a potion and you stopped my bleeding and -"

"Both our minds and bodies have beens subject as of late to Magical phenomena we've not quite understood," Voldemort reminded her tightly. He stood from his chair and said, "I've come to believe that anything is possible. We've a test in the Potions Stores. Meet me upstairs in a few moments."

He started to walk away from her, but Bellatrix boldly reached out for his wrist. He turned round quickly, reading the horror on her face. She shook her head and insisted,

"I can't. I can't go through… months… and then giving birth and then raising… no. Please, please don't make me."

Voldemort licked his bottom lip carefully. Some witches, he knew, were born to be mothers. They had motherhood flowing through their veins. Bellatrix was not one of those witches. She'd been fine with Ophelia's twins temporarily, but she was made for battle and politics, not for parenthood. He gave her a steely look and vowed,

"You don't have to anything, Bellatrix. I'll meet you upstairs."

* * *

Seven minutes. It would take seven minutes for the test to register positive or negative. The obscene glass beaker of Bellatrix's urine had been mixed with the testing solution, and in seven minutes' time, it would either be cloudy white or opaque black. A white test was negative; a black test was positive. Bellatrix was quite sure there was nothing positive about an affirmative result on this test.

"I'm sorry," she found herself mumbling as she paced frantically through the bedroom. She shook her head as tears streamed silently down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I took the long-acting potion. I don't want this. I can't do this."

"Bella," Voldemort said softly, but Bellatrix kept pacing as she raked her fingers through her messy curls.

"It started with my breasts being sore, and then I was just a bit nauseated and tired, and I thought it was from flying quickly back and forth, that perhaps I'd acquired some odd infection in America, that -"

"Bella." Voldemort's voice was more firm now, and she finally stopped and stared sorrowfully at him. He shrugged from where he sat at the foot of the bed and said, "If that test is positive… you know there are ways to make it go away. Plenty of potions exist for such a thing."

Bellatrix scoffed in disbelief and threw her hands up. "Yes, let me go right on ahead and terminate a pregnancy with the heir of the Dark Lord!"

"Lord Voldemort needs no heir," he said seriously, his hands tightening on his knees. He shook his head. "If I'd wanted babies, Bellatrix, I'd have taken Yaxley's twins when they needed caretaking."

She suddenly remembered his physical discomfort whilst holding Victor, the way he'd dangled the child in the air before him like a dirty rag. She couldn't help but smirk a little as she put her hand to her lower abdomen and told him,

"I want a life with you, My Lord. Only you."

"I know," he nodded. Then he glanced at the clock and informed her, "It's been seven minutes. Let's go have a look, shall we?"

Bellatrix thought she might faint as she let him lead her into the bathroom. Then she froze, for the test beaker was sitting on the ledge above the sink, and it was cloudy, bright white.

"It's negative," Bellatrix whispered, and when her heart raced, she couldn't tell if the energy was her own or Voldemort's. It didn't matter. She squeezed his hand and met his eyes, and she repeated in disbelief, "It's negative. I'm not pregnant."

Voldemort breathed a deep sigh of relief and nodded. He pulled out his wand and Vanished the beaker. He seemed to be searching his mind for another explanation, and finally he said,

"I suppose it could be Norrow's Disease."

That sounded just as bad as being pregnant, so Bellatrix's eyes went wide as she demanded, "What's Norrow's Disease?"

"It's endemic to America," Voldemort said. "I've only read about it; there have only been a few isolated cases in Britain. You could have contracted it just by being around American witches and wizards; I think most of them are asymptomatic carriers. Let's go to the library; I've got a medical encyclopedia down there."

He led her down the staircase, and Bellatrix felt weary and sore as she followed him. They walked quickly down one of the castle's corridors to another of the towers, and once more Bellatrix found herself amazed by the structure Voldemort had built.

"In any case, we ought to have Healer Harvey look you over," Voldemort was saying. "And even if if it is Norrow's Disease, or something else, we'll want a more permanent contraceptive solution. It's obvious neither of us wants there to be the slightest possibility of you ever becoming pregnant."

"Permanent solution?" Bellatrix repeated, struggling to keep up with him as they turned a corner. "What sorts of permanent solutions are there?"

Voldemort visibly hesitated and said, "Magical surgery. They can permanently sever and cauterise your tubes, or they can completely sterilise the womb to prevent an egg ever implanting. We couldn't have you staying at St Mungo's for an operation of that nature, so we'd need to create a good medical environment here, and… well, we're getting ahead of ourselves."

He finally stepped into the library and immediately walked to one of the shelves, from which he pulled out a thick brown tome on Medical Magic. He put it on the desk and opened it to the table of contents, searching with his finger for Norrow's Disease. Bellatrix just watched, feeling nauseated and tired. She was relieved beyond measure that the pregnancy test had been negative, but her fingers were still shaking from the very possibility.

"Here," Voldemort said firmly. "Norrow's Disease can be contracted easily by those who have no inoculation, prior exposure, or natural immunity. While not a life-threatening illness, Norrow's Disease can be inconvenient and confusing. Especially in witches, its symptoms - severe fatigue, nausea, headache, and body aches - may initially be interpreted as the early signs of pregnancy. Norrow's Disease has no cure and must be allowed to run its course. Symptomatic treatment can ease the patient's discomfort through the course of the illness, which lasts approximately three to five days and manifests about a week after infection. Butterfly Weed Balm for much scle aches, the Allevio spell, Invigoration Draught, and Nonemesis Potion can help make the patient more comfortable. Rest is recommended to speed the course of the illness."

Voldemort shrugged and turned to Bellatrix. She nodded.

"I suppose that's that, then. Butterfly Weed Balm. Invigoration Draught. Nonemesis Potion. We have all those."

He stared at her for a very long moment, and she could tell he was trying to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself. He was a blank spot in her consciousness all of a sudden. He shut the book on the desk and dragged his thumb over his bottom lip.

"You were very good with Ophelia's babies," he reminded her, and Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and shook her head.

"So was Dahlia," she said, "and the baby she'll have in a few weeks will have a mother who actually wants it."

Voldemort nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. "It would never make you happy."

"No," Bellatrix agreed. "It wouldn't."

"Right. Well, I'm going to send an owl to Healer Harvey at once. I'll get him here for a consultation, and he can tell you what your options are for a permanent solution. Put both our minds at ease. In the meantime, go back up to bed and I'll bring you a few things to help with the Norrow's Disease."

* * *

 **Black Family Residence, Kensington, London**

 **28 January 1972**

"Are you quite certain you're not hungry, dear?" Druella Black asked her eldest daughter, and Bellatrix shook her head apologetically.

"Sorry, Mother. I don't mean to be morose on your birthday. I'm fine. Really. I promise."

And she was fine. More than fine. She just didn't feel much like moving, much less eating. Healer Harvey had waited until the symptoms of Norrow's Disease had fully passed, and then he and a team of three other Surgi-Wizards had performed surgery on the Dark Lord's wife in a carefully sterilised room at Archer's Edge.

She'd been sedated into unconsciousness for the procedure, but the dull ache that remained assured her they'd done their job in permanently severing her tubes. They'd even performed a more complicated procedure that would Vanish every last egg her body had ever made. It would be absolutely impossible now, without the help of incredibly Dark and dangerous magic, for Bellatrix to become pregnant. She liked that knowledge. She liked the idea that she was free to make love to her powerful husband without the acidic fear of motherhood.

Some witches were made to be mothers, but Bellatrix knew she was not one of them. Here at her mother's birthday party, she stared at her younger sister Narcissa and knew that she would be a devoted mother someday. That day was probably not so far off; Cissy would marry Lucius Malfoy as soon as she possibly could, and certainly a child would come soon after.

Rabastan Lestrange had come to the party without Dahlia, for she was due to deliver any day now. Bellatrix still hadn't had time to pay Dahlia a visit, which would have made her feel more guilty if she'd actually valued her old Hogwarts friendships.

"I absolutely adore my gift, Bellatrix," Druella Black said, and Bellatrix snapped back to reality. Her mother touched at the necklace Bellatrix had had made for her, a two-pendant creation that blended the crests of the Rosier and Black families. Bellatrix smiled as warmly as she could and teased her mother,

"Well, it's your last year in your thirties. I had to get you something nice before you keel straight into your forties."

Druella laughed a little, and Bellatrix's eyes flicked to where Lord Voldemort stood deep in conversation with Tudor Yaxley. He seemed to feel her eyes on him, for he looked over at her whilst he listened to the Yaxley talk. Something was bothering him. Bellatrix could tell that. Voldemort turned to Yaxley and seemed rather harsh as he snapped something at the other wizard.

"Excuse me, Mother," Bellatrix said quietly, starting toward Voldemort. He pulled himself away from the conversation, and as he approached Bellatrix, he thought,

Upstairs to the library. Now.

She followed him, her abdomen aching terribly as she trotted up the stairs behind him. She was suddenly flung back in time to the other times they'd surreptitiously kissed and groped one another in this library. Today was different, she could tell. Something had upset him.

"What's wrong?" she asked as they entered the library. She shut the door behind her, and Voldemort asked briskly,

"How are you feeling?"

Bellatrix tipped her head. "Is that your way of vetting me for battle readiness?"

"No," Voldemort shook his head. "You're two days out of major surgery; I was merely inquiring about how you were feeling."

"I'm fine. Thank you," Bellatrix said carefully. "What happened downstairs?"

Voldemort chewed his bottom lip and shrugged. "My head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has married without my permission."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open. "Your head of… you mean Yaxley. How could he… married?"

"Mmm-hmm. To Daisy Greengrass," Voldemort said tightly. Bellatrix felt like the room was spinning. She shut her eyes and shook her head.

"No," she insisted. "Ophelia's only been dead a few months. Daisy was meant to care for the babies."

"Yes, and apparently she's helped him get through his grief rather effectively," Voldemort spat. "Yaxley says the babies love their new mother, and he thought the right thing to do was to make everything proper and legal. That means he's been fucking her. Daisy."

Bellatrix was so disgusted she could hardly breathe. She and Ophelia had shared a superficial friendship, but there was something repulsive about the idea of quickly marrying the young witch who had taken over the care of a dead wife's babies.

"He didn't ask your permission," Bellatrix noted through clenched teeth, and Voldemort's anger throbbed into her mind.

"No, he didn't. But if I put my head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in Azkaban for this, it's going to open a colossal can of worms. The department would be thrown into chaos. I'd have people criticising my policies behind my back. A public scandal. Rage from the Greengrass family."

"So what are you going to do?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort pursed his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm going to pretend I gave him permission. A special dispensation. I'm going to seize all his assets; he can live in a tiny house in a hideous town with a minimal allowance. He'll be demoted; he can head the Invisibility Task Force. And he can either accept these terms or a life sentence in Azkaban for betraying my trust and every measure of decency."

Bellatrix swallowed hard. "If you demote him to the Invisibility Task Force, who's going to head the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

Voldemort shrugged. "You've done it before. The position is yours if you want it. But it's quite a bit of bureaucracy. Not much action. I was thinking you might enjoy taking Malabit Rowle's job instead. I can promote her to head up the department, and you can lead the Auror Office. Whichever option you prefer."

Bellatrix sighed and said helplessly, "I quite like being your secretary, My Lord."

He raised his eyes to her and said firmly, "I think you'd do a very fine job leading our Auror forces, Madam Black. Do you accept the position?"

Bellatrix nodded at last, feeling nothing but angry disgust toward Tudor Yaxley. She would have never thought him capable of so quickly denying everything Ophelia had meant to him. But, then, theirs had been an arranged marriage. Perhaps it was easier to move on from the loss of an arranged wife. Bellatrix glanced toward the door and said quietly,

"We should go back downstairs so people don't talk."

Voldemort nodded, his hand pausing on the doorknob as he looked Bellatrix up and down. "Are you certain you feel all right?"

Bellatrix nodded. "I feel fine, My Lord. I'll be more than ready for work at the Ministry on Monday."

* * *

 **Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **29 January 1972**

"Bellatrix?"

She turned round near the castle's main doors to see Voldemort walking slowly toward her in the corridor. He leaned back against a mighty stone pillar when he reached her, and he said,

"You're going to see Dahlia Lestrange?"

Bellatrix sighed. "Daisy's her sister. Ophelia was her best friend. She's giving birth any day now. I'm sure she's a complete disaster."

"Hmm." Voldemort didn't much seem like he cared about Dahlia's mental wellbeing. He scratched at his jaw and seemed thoughtful for a moment before he said, "I'm sorry, but I can't have you head up the Auror Office. It was a terrible idea to suggest, and I apologise for getting your hopes up about it."

Bellatrix frowned and thumbed nervously at the trim on her winter cloak. "Am I not qualified, My Lord?"

"Entirely too qualified, actually," he said. He gave her a serious look and said, "If I'm to helm a kingdom, and you're to be my consort, you can't be a Ministry employee. That would make Abraxas Malfoy your boss. It would make Malabit Rowle your boss, for Merlin's sake, and… I know you understand the optics here."

Bellatrix nodded despite her disappointment. "If I work directly and only for you, and all my public appearances are as your consort, that, in turn, elevates you above the fray."

"Precisely." Voldemort picked a piece of lint from his woolen robes and said gently, "You've more than proven yourself in combat; don't think for a moment I'd ever leave you out of a battle."

"I should like to think that someday your rule will be universally accepted, My Lord, and there will be no battles."

He smirked. "Not likely. But a pleasant thought, just the same. I'll work with Malfoy to make internal promotions in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I… erm… I appreciate your understanding."

Bellatrix laughed a little and admitted, "I wasn't much looking forward to commuting to London every day. I like working here with you."

He stared at her then, and she felt a sudden flush of affection blaze from his consciousness into hers. He put his lips into a line and sounded almost nervous as he said,

"Careful what you say to Dahlia Lestrange. I can't have feuds breaking out over this."

"I understand, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. "That's most of why I'm going."

He curled up his lips. "Secretary. Soldier. Diplomat. Is there anything she doesn't do?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and gestured up to her wild curls. "I'm not so great with the girlish cosmetic charade, I'm afraid."

Voldemort snorted a little laugh and stepped away from the column. He hovered over her, their height difference more apparent than ever as he murmured,

"I like your curls. And you don't need any eyeshadow or any of that. You're at your prettiest at sunrise, looking like you've just stepped out of very exhausting hurricane."

Bellatrix giggled and swatted playfully at his shoulder. She paused then, realising that was something she would have never done before. She couldn't hit him, not even in jest. He was her lord and master.

"I'm your husband," he said quietly, pulling her knuckles to her lips and kissing them. His glittering eyes bored into hers as he said very seriously, "For all you know, Bella, I quite like being hit by you."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open in shock. She blinked a few times and asked in a whisper, "Is that… something you want?"

"Perhaps. Sometime. Just to try." His cheeks went red, and she felt a violent flare of desire course from his mind into hers. His hand tightened around her fingers, and he told her, "Go see Dahlia."

Bellatrix nodded mutely, pulling her hand from his and walking straight out the front door.

* * *

 **Witchfold Manor, Carlisle**

 **29 January 1972**

"My Lady!" Dahlia Lestrange heaved herself from the armchair in her sitting room. She dipped into the most elegant curtsy she could muster given that she was days away from giving birth. Bellatrix would have been uncomfortable, once upon a time, with the way Dahlia was addressing her and behaving around her. But she was the consort of Lord Voldemort, and there was no room anymore for familiarity. This, Bellatrix knew, was why Voldemort had changed his mind about her working at the Ministry. She couldn't be pushing papers side-by-side with his subjects.

"Dahlia," Bellatrix breathed, taking in the way her friend had blown up like a balloon. She raised her eyebrows and said rather helplessly, "You must be getting very impatient."

"Ugh. You have no idea," Dahlia lamented. "Every day, I look at the clock fifty times and ask myself, Am I in labour yet? How about now? It's ridiculous. But it'll be soon. I know it. The Healer said he could trigger labour, but Rabastan said no. He doesn't want to take any risks, and neither do I. Anyway. Do you mind if we sit?"

"No, of course not." Bellatrix perched herself on the edge of the cushion in the chair opposite Dahlia. She knitted her fingers on her lap and decided to cut right to the chase of why she'd come. "When is the last time you spoke with your sister?"

"With Daisy?" Dahlia's face went white, and she put a hand over the swell of her belly rather protectively. "Has something happened to Daisy?"

Bellatrix considered her words carefully. "You know that she's been living with Tudor Yaxley."

"She's been living in the Yaxley household, taking care of Ophelia's babies," Dahlia said, but Bellatrix knew by the sudden sheen in her eyes that Dahlia suspected the worst. Bellatrix huffed a sigh and said briskly,

"Yes, well, Tudor Yaxley has married her."

"What?" Dahlia's hand shook on her belly, and she started to breathe so frantically that Bellatrix feared she'd hyperventilate and pass out. Bellatrix reached over to take Dahlia's free hand in hers, and she insisted,

"Dahlia. Breathe. Slowly. Calm down and listen."

Dahlia did her best, shutting her eyes and shaking her head as she mumbled, "No. Ophelia's only been gone a few months. Ophelia was my very best friend; Daisy would never wound me like this."

"You had absolutely no idea?" Bellatrix asked. When Dahlia hesitated, Bellatrix released her hand and prompted her again, "You had no inclination this might happen?"

Dahlia's breath shook as she opened her eyes and said morosely, "She's written a few times about how she wants to stay there forever. How much she adores the babies, how she feels like their mother. The way she… the way she was developing a serious crush on Tudor Yaxley. I tried to tell her to back down. He's your employer, I told her, and he's the widower of my very best friend. But Daisy's always done whatever she wanted. They got permission for this?"

There was the tiniest hint of accusation in that last question, so Bellatrix made her face steely and said in a sharp tone, "Yaxley forced the Dark Lord's hand on this. He's no longer head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; he's taken a very serious demotion. He and Daisy have lost their estate and will be living in modest housing somewhere on a low-rung Ministry income. Yaxley's brought shame on himself by doing this. Suffice it to say that the Dark Lord is not pleased."

Silent tears began to stream down Dahlia's face, and she shrugged a little as she demanded to no one in particular, "Why would she choose this? Why would she marry a man who obviously thirsts after the youngest witches he can have? Why would she marry a man who just buried his wife a few months ago, who's destroyed his reputation for her? Why?"

Bellatrix had a sudden memory - the vivid green light of her Killing Curse as it slammed into Andromeda.

"I know better than just about anyone else what it means for one sister to betray another," Bellatrix said coolly. "And do you know what to do when your sister has betrayed you, Dahlia? You keep on living your life. You say hello to her when it's absolutely necessary, but you focus on your husband and your baby and your home. Your life. You understand?"

Dahlia nodded, sitting up a little straighter. "Yes. Thank you for coming, My Lady. I'm glad I heard it from you."

Bellatrix stood and gestured for Dahlia to stay seated. She flashed her old friend a little smile and said,

"Be well. Tell Rabastan to send us word as soon as the child is born."

"Of course." Dahlia nodded vigorously. Her face softened a little then, and she said kindly, "I always knew you'd become a very grand person. And you have."

Bellatrix scoffed gently and said again, "Be well, Dahlia. Goodbye."

* * *

 **Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **29 January 1972**

"Well. Today in Things I Did Not Expect to See: Bellatrix Black, barefoot in the kitchen." Lord Voldemort ambled slowly into the spacious kitchen, crossing his arms over his tunic as Bellatrix turned round, a bowl cradled in her arm as she stirred a wooden spoon with her right hand. There was a bit of flour in her hair, which was terribly attractive for some bizarre reason.

"Don't get used to it," Bellatrix warned him. "I'm just trying to occupy my mind."

"That bad, eh?" He leaned on the butcher block counter and watched curiously as she stirred her thick dough.

"Worse," Bellatrix huffed. She set her bowl down on the counter, and as she pulled out the wooden spoon and used her wand to Scour it, she declared, "Dahlia had no idea. She was distraught. But I instructed her to keep living her own life. Told her I was rather an expert on sisterly betrayal."

"Quite so," Voldemort said quietly. He'd been in an emergency meeting at Malfoy Manor, having gathered Abraxas Malfoy and Malabit Rowle and a few others to quickly reshuffle the hierarchy in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When he'd come home, he'd been able to sense Bellatrix's presence, and he'd followed the feel of her here to the kitchen.

She was making bread, he realised at last. He could tell because the dough had risen a bit in the bowl, and now Bellatrix was punching it. She looked like she'd done this a thousand times as she methodically pushed her fists against the dough. Voldemort had been drunk the night she'd made and brought him a birthday cake, but he could still taste the vanilla frosting.

"Do I actually get to eat this bread you're making?" he asked, and Bellatrix blew her curls from her face as she said,

"That depends on how it turns out, My Lord."

He smirked, watching in silence as she folded in the edges of the deflated dough and formed a ball. She moved smoothly, expertly, bringing the ball of dough onto the floured butcher block. She began to knead the dough, and for some reason the sight of her moving her arms so confidently and aggressively made Voldemort go a bit hard in his trousers. She'd be able to feel his arousal, he knew. There was no point in hiding it. He saw her smile a little, and she asked,

"Is baking as alluring as that?"

"I just like to watch you," he said simply. Bellatrix's fingers paused on the dough, and she seemed to be trying to keep herself from tumbling into the oblivion of want with him. Finally she manipulated the ball of dough into something resembling a loaf, and she hoisted it onto a heavy-duty baking sheet. She opened the oven and put the bread inside, flicking her wand at a small hourglass beside the oven.

"Media hora," she murmured, and the amount of sand in the hourglass diminished so that it was set to a half hour. Bellatrix set her wand down on the counter and turned to face Voldemort, brushing her floury hands on the dark green apron she'd donned. Voldemort felt more aroused than ever as she plodded toward him with a knowing little smirk.

"Do you like to see me so domestic, My Lord?" she asked. She was mocking him now, he knew, and for some reason he didn't mind. She put her hands on his cheeks and said seriously, "Bit strange to see your ravenously violent, effortlessly diplomatic consort baking bread, isn't it?"

"Bella." Voldemort huffed a breath and shut his eyes, feeling blood rush to his cock as he gulped. Suddenly he felt a twinge of uncertainty from Bellatrix, and she finally asked him,

"What did you mean earlier? Before I left?"

About her hitting him, he thought. He shrugged a little, for even he wasn't entirely sure what he'd meant by it. He remembered the time that he'd been training her in Occlumency, when the only way she'd been able to truly resist him had been to smack him hard across the face. She'd practically punched him that day, and though he'd let her use her mouth on him to put everyone back in their places, he'd almost liked it. He wasn't quite sure why.

He opened his eyes to see Bellatrix staring up at him, wide-eyed and confused. She knew he'd been thinking of that day, of when she'd hit him as hard as she could. Voldemort looked away, embarrassed, and mumbled,

"It's a silly notion that needs no further attention."

"It's because I'm the only one who can defy you, isn't it?" Bellatrix whispered. "It's because even when I screamed no at you and punched your jaw, you still wanted and loved me, and you were still fully confident in my loyalty and admiration for you."

She was right, of course. She was always right, which was bloody well annoying. Voldemort felt his cheeks go hot, and he started to stride toward the oven.

"What are you doing?" Bellatrix demanded, her voice defensive as his hands went for the handle of the oven door. She dashed up behind him and covered his hand with hers, and he gave her a condescending look as he said lightly,

"What? Isn't the bread finished?"

"No. Obviously not." Bellatrix glared up at him, and he could feel her turbulent, flustered sense of unease. He cocked up an eyebrow and said in a leading tone,

"Perhaps I shall just take the dough out and check."

"If you do that, it'll collapse and you'll have yeasty biscuits instead of bread," Bellatrix snarled through her teeth. She'd caught on. He could feel it now, the fact that she'd realised he wanted to toy with her a bit. He started to pull the oven door open, and Bellatrix slammed it shut and yanked his wrist away. Her voice shook as she commanded him, "Stop it. Get away from the oven."

Voldemort leaned down, his lips hovering just above hers as he murmured, "Make me."

Bellatrix pushed his chest, and Voldemort felt a surge of want go through him. Whether it was hers or his, he couldn't quite tell. He liked it either way. He gulped and took a few steps backward into the open space of the kitchen. He gave Bellatrix a warning look and said in a dangerous tone,

"You treat your lord like that, little thing, and you're liable to wind up barefoot in this kitchen three times a day."

Bellatrix jerked her chin up defiantly and said, "The bread will be finished when the hourglass is up. Use the oven mitts to take it out and let it cool on the counter."

She started to walk quickly past him, tearing at the ties of her apron and letting it fall to the tile floor. Voldemort snatched at her left bicep and pulled her back, and when she whirled around, she'd pasted a look of indignant shock on her face.

"Let me go," she demanded, but Voldemort tightened his grip and said again,

"Make me."

Bellatrix tried to pull away, but Voldemort yanked her closer. Bellatrix wound up and swung her right hand hard up against Voldemort's face, as if on cue. She'd used a closed fist, which shocked him for a moment as he registered the sensation of intense pain crackling through his jaw. He shut his eyes for a moment and felt Bellatrix's fear. She still couldn't understand why he wanted this, and she was terrified that he would punish her - really punish her - for hitting him.

"Do it again," Voldemort insisted, but when he opened his eyes, Bellatrix looked a bit unnerved. She shook her head and asked quietly,

"Why?"

"You are not permitted to ask me why," Voldemort snarled, shoving her toward the open stretch of butcher block. "You are permitted to follow my orders, you understand? Hit me, Bellatrix."

Her eyes flashed, and he couldn't quite read the flare of emotion. He had her backed up against the counter, and she pushed again at his chest. He was much stronger than her, and he shoved himself toward her until she was completely pinned. Suddenly Bellatrix was beating her fists on his chest, the blows combining to feel like a little climax. Voldemort tipped his head back and groaned. Bellatrix grabbed hard at Voldemort's arms, her little fingers digging roughly into his skin. He let out a guttural noise that sounded far more animal than human, and then he lost control entirely.

He hoisted her up onto the butcher block and started wrenching down her leggings and knickers. Bellatrix gasped as she found herself wriggling out of the clothes to help him. He put his fingers to her quim and found her soaking wet for him, and he said in a mocking voice,

"You filthy little girl; you like to hit your husband."

She shook her head and panted, "It's because… I can feel your… your…"

"This?" He thrust his trapped erection toward her, grabbing her hand and urging her to free his cock. Her fingers shook as she unbuttoned the placket of his trousers, and she whispered,

"Your jaw's already mottled purple; it's going to bruise."

"There are balms and salves and spells for such things," Voldemort reminded her, hissing with delight as she coursed her fingers over his dewy tip. She scooted up to the edge of the counter, and Voldemort realised it was just a smidge too high for what they intended to do.

"Do not laugh," he commanded her, and he pulled his wand out to Conjure a low, stable step stool. Bellatrix was very obviously suppressing a grin as the wooden contraption materialised, but she held it together as Voldemort stood on the bottom step and said snidely, "Can't say I recall the last time I was too short for anything."

"Perhaps the counters are too tall," Bellatrix suggested. "I'm little, and I find them to be much too tall."

"Then once we've finished here," Voldemort said, meeting her eyes, "I shall lower them, so that the next time I feel like plundering you here, I don't need a damned step stool. Put your legs round me."

She did, and when he slid into her, she burrowed her face against his chest. She was so snug and warm that he had to pause for a moment. He very nearly lost himself. He pressed his hands flat against her back and started to pump his hips languorously.

Every time I've ever hit you, it's felt like committing a crime, Bellatrix thought toward him, and Voldemort laughed against her hair.

"Says the witch who's committed all manner of actual crimes, like torture and murder."

"But I didn't love anyone I've killed," Bellatrix said. She reached up as he cycled his hips inside of her, her fingers dusting carefully over the jaw she'd punched. "I do love you. Including your jaw."

Voldemort said nothing for a long while. He just savoured the feel of her body around him - the warm wet of her hugging his cock, the feel of her arms around his shoulders, of her legs squeezing his hips. He kissed her hair and said quietly,

"I'm never exactly certain why I want the things I do, Bella. But you always play along so very nicely."

"I always will, My Lord," she assured him, pulling back and nodding as her eyes met his. That pushed him over the edge, and he watched her face contort as she shared in the feeling of physical satisfaction that washed over him. She let her head fall forward, her back heaving with quick breath as Voldemort slid out of her and tucked himself away.

"This counter is going to need more than one cleansing spell," he noted, taking her waist in his hands and lifting her lightweight body to the ground. He Vanished the stupid step stool he'd been forced to Conjure, and he watched as Bellatrix started casting one spell after another on herself and the butcher block. He bent to pick up her leggings and knickers, and she gasped and looked beyond him as she snatced the clothing from his hands.

"The hourglass is up," she fretted, glancing down at her naked lower half. She raised her eyes to him and pleaded, "Take it out, will you? Please? The oven mitts are just to the right… yes. There. Thank you."

Voldemort smirked a little as he opened the oven and pulled out the delicious-smelling bread. He glanced over his shoulder as he set it down to cool.

"Lucky you stopped me from checking on it," he told her. "We wouldn't have wanted yeasty biscuits."

* * *

 **Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **2 February 1972**

 _"Why are you crying?"_

 _"What?" Bellatrix glared up at her husband and said with more anger than usual, "I have tortured and killed for you. I split my soul up for you. I committed to a permanent, indissoluble marriage to you. When Alastor Moody turned you into a twenty-year-old boy, it was me who helped you get your face back. When your vain experiment to stay looking thirty failed, it was me to invented a potion to help you. I learnt Occlumency for you. I learnt to Imperius more strongly for you. I helped you kill Albus Dumbledore, and you distinctly told me you would not be able to do it without me. I am your wife, and I have helped you, and I will help you in the future, but you can't send me away. You just can't."_

 _"I can do whatever I damned well please." He smelled like whiskey and radiated anger as he growled, "I am Lord Voldemort, or had you forgotten?"_

 _She responded by rubbing at her Mark, stimulating both of their bodies as she tried to show him just how connected they were._

 _"Stop it," Voldemort snapped. "Stop it now, Bellatrix!"_

 _She taunted him again, and he grabbed her wrist, squeezing until Bellatrix felt a terrible searing pain._

 _"You push me too far when I'm like this, Bellatrix. I'm liable to kill you."_

 _"You can't, remember?" Bellatrix's ears went hot and her vision went white for a second as he squeezed and twisted again. She felt her bones snap and splinter. She was relatively certain he'd broken her wrist. He'd really wounded her this time. She sobbed as she tried to talk him through a plan to kill McGonagall, but the pain was so overwhelming that she could hardly think. Somehow he found a way to wrench at her even more ferociously, and Bellatrix screamed at the unmistakable sensation of her bones breaking._

 _"Please," she begged him, "Please let me fix my arm."_

 _Bellatrix opened her eyes and was unsurprised to feel tears silently working their way down her cheeks. She rolled toward her husband, but was surprised to see that he was still sleeping. She frowned with confusion; weren't these the sort of dreams they shared these days?_

"My Lord," she whispered, and he slowly blinked his eyes open at the sound of her voice. He stared at her, groggy and only half-awake, and reached up to cup her jaw in his hand.

"What's the matter, little thing?" he asked, and Bellatrix was overwhelmed by the contrast between this man and the one who had broken her wrist. Suddenly his face twisted a little, and Bellatrix could tell he was aware of her discomfort. He sat up a little and tipped his head.

"You dreamed something awful."

"Unfortunately, it was a memory," Bellatrix mumbled, and she shut her eyes as she let him see the scene play out again.

"Stop. Please," Voldemort whispered. Bellatrix opened her eyes, and he looked so sorrowful she feared he might actually cry. He gnawed hard on his bottom lip and said sincerely, "I've done a great many terrible things in my life, Bella, but… what I did to you that day was more evil than anything else."

That was saying a lot, she knew. His body count was absurd. He'd set fire to whole villages. He'd created Horcruxes and Inferi. He'd toppled a government for his own gain. But somehow Bellatrix's wrist meant more than any of that. She raked her curls away from her face and told him,

"I don't often think about it, My Lord. It was just a dream."

"No, it was something that happened to you that replayed itself in a dream," he corrected her. He lay on his back and pulled her above him, running his hands slowly up and down her arms as he promised her, "I'll never hurt you again."

Bellatrix scoffed a little, for she didn't think that was a vow he could possibly make. She sighed and stroked at his bare chest as she said,

"I knew exactly who you were when I married you. The wrist healed. I harbour no anger about it. I love you."

He frowned up at her, his fingers grazing over her collarbone. "Were you created just for me, I wonder?"

"I hope so," Bellatrix nodded. "I like that theory very much."

She bent to kiss him, tasting sleep on him and not caring one bit.

* * *

Bellatrix knocked on Voldemort's open office door to signal that she was coming in. He looked up from his copy of the Daily Prophet and said sharply,

"Lestrange is late."

"I've actually just received an owl from him, My Lord," Bellatrix said, holding out a parchment. "He apologises profusely and begs to reschedule his meeting with you. Dahlia's gone into labour, so…"

"Well, doesn't labour usually last a good long while?" Voldemort snapped. "He can't spare a half hour to meet with me? The gall of that man…"

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows and said cautiously, "My Lord, if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion…"

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Go on, then."

"Let him stay with Dahlia," Bellatrix said. "He'll resent you forever if he misses the sound of his child's first cry because he was discussing the implications of the American situation on international Quidditch play."

"Fine." Voldemort folded up his newspaper and noted, "That was my only scheduled meeting for the afternoon, no?"

"Well, it was," Bellatrix said carefully, and when he raised his eyes to her, she seemed nervous. She sat in the chair opposite him and said, "I received another owl, just ten minutes ago. It was from Malabit Rowle. She would like to meet with you as soon as possible. It's about Tarquin Avery."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and tipped his head. "What about Tarquin Avery?"

"I don't know, My Lord," Bellatrix said, and he knew she was being honest. "Would you like to go to the Ministry, or shall I have her come here?"

He considered the optics - something he was wont to do these days. It would look good, he thought, for the Dark Lord himself to make an appearance at the Ministry.

"Tell her we'll be there shortly," he said. "Dress like we're going to battle."

"Are we going to battle, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked with surprise, and Voldemort shook his head.

"No. We're just going to an office at the Ministry. But it's better, I think, if we always look just a bit armoured. Write to her and go get ready; we'll leave in an hour."

* * *

 **Ministry of Magic Headquarters, London**

 **2 February 1972**

Voldemort and Bellatrix Apparated straight into the middle of the Ministry atrium with a resounding crack. He usually Apparated silent as a wraith, but today, in this space that was presumably guarded with all manner of anti-Apparition charms, he wanted to make a statement. It worked.

The instant he and Bellatrix appeared, the witches and wizards milling about the atrium stopped what they were doing. One by one, they dipped into bows and curtsies, murmuring submissive greetings. Voldemort just nodded to a few of them and walked briskly toward the bank of lifts. Bellatrix walked a half step behind him, her boots quick on the shiny black floor.

Just as they neared the lifts, a plump blonde witch stepped out of one, her gaze on a stack of parchments in her hands. She walked straight into Bellatrix, and as she excused herself and looked up, her eyes went wide. She dropped the stack of parchments she was holding, and Bellatrix quickly flicked her wand to send the papers back up into the witch's arms.

"My Lord," she breathed apologetically. "M-My Lady. Pardon me; I'm so sorry…"

"Hortense, isn't it?" Bellatrix asked, feigning warmth. The plump witch went red in the cheeks but grinned as Bellatrix nodded. "Ah, yes. Hortense! You were a Hufflepuff a few years ahead of me in school, weren't you?"

"That's right, Madam Black," said the witch. Voldemort watched in impressed awe as Bellatrix asked curiously,

"What do you do here at the Ministry, Hortense?"

"Oh. I… erm, I work in the Spirit Division… Magical Creatures." The plump witch, Hortense, looked terrified when her eyes flicked to Voldemort for a moment. She looked back to Bellatrix and said awkwardly, "I spend my time conversing with ghosts, so."

"That sounds positively fascinating," Bellatrix lied. "I should like, sometime, to come learn more about what your department does, if you'll have me for a visit."

Hortense nodded vigorously, her eyes lighting up. "That would be a tremendous honour, My Lady. Again… I'm so sorry for -"

"Don't be silly; you were focused on your work," Bellatrix laughed. "Have a fine day, Hortense."

"And you, My Lady. My Lord." Hortense made a straight movement halfway between a bow and a curtsy and hurried off. Voldemort silently pressed the button to call a lift, and once they'd stepped inside, Bellatrix directed the lift to the second level. Once the lift was moving, Voldemort smirked down at her and said,

"That was beautifully handled. Expertly handled, in fact."

Bellatrix shrugged. "It's fine if they're afraid of you, My Lord, but embarrassment is a powerfully negative human sensation. She made a mistake and she's loyal."

"As Hufflepuffs so often are," Voldemort joked. The lift reached the second level, and he let Bellatrix step out first. The two of them knew their way around this department well, for Bellatrix had filled in for Tudor Yaxley just after Ophelia's death. Things were different now, of course. They reached the office that now belonged to Malabit Rowle. Voldemort considered knocking, but the decided he didn't need anyone's permission to enter any room in the Ministry. He turned the doorknob on the office door and opened it slowly enough to give Malabit Rowle warning. By the time the door was open, Rowle had risen to her feet at her desk. She was a tall, spindly witch of perhaps forty, so thin that she looked like she'd blow away in a breeze, but she was authoritative and capable. She nodded almost sternly and acknowledged,

"Good afternoon, My Lord. My Lady. Thank you for coming."

Voldemort pulled a chair out for Bellatrix and sat beside her, folding his hands on his lap as he asked seriously,

"So what's the issue with Tarquin Avery?"

He could feel Bellatrix's nerves. She had such a complicated background with the young man. He'd chased after her for years, unwilling to accept her rejection. He'd felt her up in lessons and had taken her hex in return. In the brief period during which Voldemort had estranged himself from Bellatrix, Avery had sprung on the opportunity and had danced with her, kissed her. He'd asked to be a Death Eater and had been banished from Voldemort's presence. Bellatrix felt nothing but disdain for Tarquin Avery, Voldemort knew, but he could do without her remembering their awkward kiss in an abandoned classroom just now.

"Our Aurors received intelligence about a hive of resistance," Malabit Rowle said matter-of-factly. "Mostly Mudbloods, a few blood traitors. They were hiding out off the grid, blending into a Muggle town in Sussex. The Aurors raided the place and captured everyone. Tarquin Avery was the only major surprise. We conducted an interrogation using Veritaserum; he revealed that he had joined a small resistance movement after being cut off by his father and by… by you, My Lord."

Voldemort squared his jaw. "I refused his request to become a Death Eater. That certainly did not give him justification for this level of treason."

"Of course not, Master." Malabit Rowle shook her head and hesitated. "My Lord, the Auror who conducted the interrogation… I had to Obliviate her."

"Why?" Voldemort demanded. Rowle pulled a piece of parchment from a folder and held it out to Voldemort.

"This is the only existing copy of the interrogation's transcript, My Lord."

Voldemort scowled as he read the paper. The conversation between the Auror and Tarquin Avery had apparently led to the revelation that Tarquin Avery had spent years madly in love with Bellatrix Black, that he'd made a mistake in touching her without permission, that he resented Lord Voldemort for seducing and marrying her. He wanted to see Voldemort humiliated, Avery had said, so that perhaps one day Bellatrix might choose him.

Voldemort wordlessly handed the parchment to Bellatrix and said sharply to Malabit Rowle, "The ramblings of a madman."

"Of course, My Lord," Rowle agreed. "Just the same, I took the liberty of erasing that conversation from the Auror's mind."

"Thank you." Voldemort glanced over to Bellatrix, who was staring in open-mouthed shock at the transcript. She pulled out her wand and silently Vanished the parchment, and Voldemort asked Rowle, "Where is Avery now?"

"He's being kept in a high-security guarded cell here on this floor, My Lord," she said. "I thought perhaps you might want to speak with him."

"Very good. Just down the corridor?" Voldemort asked. When Rowle nodded, he rose from his chair and said in a clip, "Come with me, Bella."

They strode down the corridor, and in his mind, Voldemort could feel Bellatrix's throbbing anger. She wanted Tarquin Avery dead just as badly as he did. She wanted him to suffer.

"Don't worry, little thing," Voldemort murmured to her, "I intend to make him feel it."

They reached the end of the corridor, where two stoic Aurors stood guard outside a heavy black stone door. Voldemort waved his arm dismissively and barked,

"Go. You won't be needed here anymore."

They mumbled their platitudes and scurried away. Voldemort walked up to the stone door and placed his hand on it. Just like all the other doors and portals at the Ministry for Magic, it had been enchanted to grant him unconditional entry. The stone door slid open, and Voldemort strode straight into the dank, stinking cell. It was illuminated by a wrought iron light fixture suspended from the ceiling, and in the corner was Tarquin Avery, looking hungry and exhausted. Avery raised his eyes to Voldemort for a moment, but then his gaze settled on Bellatrix.

"Don't you dare look at her," Voldemort sneered. The stone door slid shut, and Bellatrix was obviously uneasy being in this situation. He tried to swipe that feeling of unease out of her mind. He stepped confidently toward Tarquin Avery, who tipped his chin up a bit and shrugged.

"Just kill me, then," he said. "It's better than Azkaban."

"What I'm about to do to you is not better than Azkaban," Voldemort assured him coldly. He used his wand to drag Avery across the ground until he was splayed on his back in the middle of the floor. He moved his wand carefully and incanted, _"Immobulus."_

Avery was frozen where he lay now, but he stared up at the ceiling and said desperately, "Bella. Bella, please. I never meant to -"

 _"Silencio,"_ Bellatrix snapped, her own wand aimed at Avery. Her hand shook a little as she lowered it. Voldemort sighed and dragged his wand through the air, creating an invisible line from the man's head to his toes.

 _"Diffindo."_

Avery's skin split open along the line Voldemort had drawn. It was as though someone had stood above him with a large, sharp knife, for a violent gash opened down his entire length. Blood began to bubble freely from the enormous wound, and Voldemort knew he'd need to act quickly before Avery simply bled out. Suddenly the man's pain overwhelmed Bellatrix's Silencing Charm, and he began to shriek in agony. That only got worse when Voldemort cast Burning Hexes all over him, each one creating welts and blisters as if his skin had been set afire. Avery screamed more loudly and desperately than Voldemort had ever heard a victim do, even under the worst Cruciatus Curse. Blood pooled around him, but it still wasn't enough. Voldemort stared at Bellatrix for a moment, and then he instructed her,

"Fix his eyes, Bella."

She nodded and pointed her wand straight at Tarquin Avery. _"Oculosanguis."_

Blood began streaming from Avery's eyes, and Voldemort found a strange satisfaction in watching that particular spell take hold of the man. He aimed his wand at the cast iron light fixture and Conjured a thick rope. He Transfigured its plain length into a carefully coiled noose, and he felt a flare of delight from Bellatrix. Voldemort dragged Tarquin Avery's body up through the air, bringing him forward until his head had slipped through the noose. He turned his eyes to Bellatrix, and she thought as clearly as could be,

 _Do it._

He nodded crisply and released his hold on Tarquin Avery. The treasonous fool was still dripping blood all over the concrete floor as his body fell downward. He was still immobilised, so he couldn't reach up or squirm or do anything but make a terrible gasping, choking sound. His neck didn't break at once, for the hastily-made noose was attached awkwardly to the cast iron light fixture. After what felt like an eternity, the flow of blood from his eyes and wounds stopped, and Voldemort knew Avery's heart had ceased beating. Bellatrix stood in silence, staring up at the gently swaying corpse of the boy who had refused to give up on his hopeless dream of her. Even unto treason, unto his gruesome death, Tarquin Avery had obsessed, and he had obsessed over the wrong witch. Bellatrix knew that, and Voldemort relished the satisfied look in her eye as she crossed her arms over her chest and murmured,

"I wish this and worse on every one of your enemies."

He wanted to kiss her then, so badly that he could hardly stop himself. Instead, he whirled around and touched the stone door, which slid open for him again. Bellatrix followed him solemnly out of the cell, and Voldemort left the door open. He strode confidently down the corridor again, glancing down to see a few stray specks of Tarquin Avery's blood on his woolen robes. He left them alone. He flung open the door to Malabit Rowle's office, and when the witch flew up to attention, Voldemort said in a flat voice,

"Take photographs. Let everyone see what happens to traitors."

He didn't wait for Malabit Rowle to respond, though he heard her say a Yes, My Lord rather meekly as he strode toward the lifts. Bellatrix followed him into the lift, and once it started to move, he reached to wrap his fingers around his. He stared out the grate at the lift shaft that was whizzing by, and he murmured,

"I certainly hope you're the in the mood to be fucked until you can't breathe."

He could feel Bellatrix's pulse race, and when he looked down at her face, she nodded seriously and said, "That's precisely the sort of mood I'm in, My Lord."

* * *

 **Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **2 February 1972**

"Don't expect me to stop," Voldemort huffed as he dragged Bellatrix into their bedroom.

"All right," she said rather breathlessly. He began yanking her clothes off of her, one piece at a time, and he said in an aggressive growl,

"Because I won't. I won't stop. So don't try what you tried last time, telling me it had gone on too long."

Last time. He meant the night that he'd set the Basilisk loose on Hogwarts. The night that he hadn't been able to stop, when his magic had set off a bomb inside of him and made his body careen out of control.

Bellatrix put her hands over his as he slid his fingers up her ribcage, and she said as gently as she could,

"Don't worry. Do whatever you want."

His eyes flashed, and she felt a surge of shared arousal go up between them. She wanted this just as badly as he did. A few days before, when he'd wanted her to hit him, there had been something strange and off about it. He was her master, no matter how much he tried to deny the word these days. He'd turned Tarquin Avery into a swinging slab of dead meat, his traitorous blood dripping all over the ground. And because he'd done that, Bellatrix needed him to take her, to claim her, to pour himself into her. She felt her heart race as he unclasped her bra and pawed roughly at her breasts.

"Don't be gentle," she begged him, her voice a soft whine in the bedroom. "Please. Please don't be gentle."

"Don't worry; I won't." Voldemort ripped at the waistband of her leggings, and Bellatrix gasped as he began to shred them in his fists. He destroyed her knickers, too, and when the fabric yanked against her skin, it hurt. She liked that, the way it stung her flesh to have him tear off her clothes. She stepped out of the scraps and stood shaking with want as Voldemort slowly stood up. He peeled off his outer robe, and Bellatrix spied a few drops of blood on the fabric. Her mind whirled a little at that, and she was dizzy as she watched him loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. He stripped everything off methodically, though there was a predatory gleam in his gaze. Once he was down to his underwear, he snatched Bellatrix's hand and brushed her fingers over his bulge. She caressed him there and met his eyes, and he whispered,

"You were only seventeen."

She could see a vivid image from his mind then. It was the two of them in his suite at Malfoy Manor, him hovering above her and being gentle with her after she'd confessed she loved him. Bellatrix swallowed hard, deepening her touch on the bulge in his underwear as she assured him,

"I had no doubts then. I certainly have none today."

He shoved her suddenly, and Bellatrix yelped as she was thrown back onto the bed. She lay with her legs hanging over the edge, and she watched as Voldemort slid his black underwear down and stepped out of them. He bent down to cover Bellatrix's body with his, his hands seizing her wrists and pinning them high above her head. He let enough of his weight fall onto her that she felt positively smothered, and suddenly Bellatrix was lost to him. She was soaking wet between her legs, and though she could no longer parse out his arousal from hers, she felt like she'd been set on fire. Voldemort was kissing her neck now, a low groan vibrating against her skin as he squeezed both her wrists with one hand. His other hand went down between them, and he murmured,

"Open your legs for me, little thing."

She obeyed at once, forcing her knees apart beneath his weight as he pushed himself into her. She tried to arch up against him, but he was dominating her entire body with his, and she couldn't move. He did; he pumped his hips steadily against her and moved his mouth from her neck to her lips. His kiss was bruising and fierce, and Bellatrix had trouble finding air between the aggressive kiss and his weight. She got so dizzy that she finally thought straight toward him,

 _I can't breathe. Really, truly, I can not breathe._

He pulled himself up a little and wrenched his mouth from hers as he panted, "Sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," she insisted, sucking air in hard through her nostrils. Voldemort still held her hands above her head, and he used his free hand to pet her hair as he filled her with his cock over and over. Bellatrix studied his glittering eyes and blurted out, "It could only ever have been you. I'd have gone through the motions with someone else, but…"

But I was made for you, she finished in her mind, and for some reason that seemed to drive him straight over the edge. He squeezed his eyes shut and hissed through clenched teeth. As his seed poured into her body, Bellatrix moaned and felt a wave of pleasure come crashing over her. Her walls contracted a bit around his cock - it was a subtle and mild orgasm, but it was there.

Voldemort pulled himself out of Bellatrix's body and immediately began stroking his cock. His hand got covered at once with both of their fluids, but he didn't seem to mind. He stared down at Bellatrix and commanded her,

"Play with your breasts."

She slid one hand below her right breast, squeezing and kneading at her skin and tipping her head back from the feel of it. Voldemort let out a small sound of satisfaction, but he whispered breathlessly,

"Harder."

Bellatrix brought her other hand up, playing with both breasts as her entire body began to tingle. She squeezed at her nipples, brushing her thumbs over the hard peaks and grazing her fingertips around them. She watched Voldemort's chest go slick with sweat, watched as his hand quickened on his erection, and she asked carefully,

"Will you put it here? Here on my breasts? I want to play with it?"

Voldemort growled like a beast then, leaning down toward the bed and hovering over her. She watched his cock swell and felt his impending climax through their strange connection. She could feel the way everything was tightening for him, the way his mind was starting to twist and turn. She watched his fingers fly up and down his shaft, dancing around his tip, and then she watched him come.

The milky fluid flew in thick streams from his body onto hers, landing in trails that criss-crossed her breasts. Voldemort snarled as he watched it happen, and it seemed to go on forever. There was so much more than usual, Bellatrix thought distantly, amazed by how long his climax lasted. Finally he stepped back to survey the work of his manhood, and when Bellatrix started dragging her fingers through the mess, he huffed and insisted,

"You're far too much."

"How do you mean, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked playfully. She pulled her finger through one puddle of his seed and brought it between her lips, moaning at the bitter, metallic taste.

"Bella!" Voldemort sounded rather desperate then, and he ordered her, "Get in the shower and clean yourself up; you're filthy."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix heaved herself off the bed and hurried into the bathroom. She turned on the taps in the shower and, whilst waiting for the water to go hot, she stared at herself in the mirror. She was covered in him, in his essence, in that which was meant to put a child in a woman. To her it was a sacred stain, and she was loathe to wash it from her skin.

She stepped into the shower, reluctantly using the bar of fresh-smelling soap to scour the remains of him from her chest and her womanhood. She stood under the hot water for a moment, wondering what Voldemort was doing. She got her answer when she felt the thud of another climax come rocketing from his mind. Her hand flew to the tile wall as her own body clenched and her breath panted against the shower walls. She was still finishing when the shower door opened and Voldemort stepped inside. He wordlessly started washing himself, covering every inch of his body with suds and then rinsing them off again.

On instinct, Bellatrix put her hands to his face as they shared the warm stream of water, and she whispered up to him,

"Will you kiss me, please?"

"I would do it forever if I could," he answered, and he lowered his mouth to hers. Bellatrix drank him in, feeling as drunk as if she were chugging hard liquor. She contemplated pleasuring him with her mouth, but she worried that she'd positively destroy her knees by doing so in the shower.

"You needn't kneel on tile for me," he mumbled against her skin. His hands started moving over her slick, wet body, and he brought her hand to his cock. "Just touch me."

She did, using the soap to help her glide her hand around his length. He was hard as rock and soft and velvet in her hand, and he kept his eyes locked on hers as he swelled and grew harder than ever. He reached his own fingers between her legs, toying with her clit as his breath sped up. When he twisted two fingers inside of her, Bellatrix cried out and felt herself about to snap. She did lose control when Voldemort came all over the shower floor. She couldn't help herself. She regained her breath and stared as his manhood swelled up again at once.

Bellatrix tried not to laugh as she asked incredulously, "How is it still working?"

He gave her a serious look and warned her, "You know I can't make it stop. Not after a day like today."

Bellatrix reached behind him and shut off the shower taps. She licked her lips as he stared at her in confusion, and she suggested,

"Hands and knees? Like the first time?"

Voldemort looked profoundly hungry then, and suddenly he'd put one arm beneath Bellatrix's knees and the other around her back. She gasped as he swept her from the shower floor, using his shoulder to shove the door open as he walked quickly toward the bedroom. He didn't seem to struggle at all with her weight, and as she held his shoulders and stared up at him, she felt so overwhelmed she couldn't breathe.

He set her down on the bed, dragging his fingertips around her wet skin as she shivered on the blankets. He stared at her for a moment and then said,

"Like this first. Gently first."

He climbed onto the bed, and as he moved above her, Bellatrix brought her knees up close to her chest. She snared her arms around his neck as he pushed smoothly into her. A drop of water from the shower fell from his forehead and landed on her chest, on the same place where he'd covered her with his seed. He began to move, smoothly and steadily, and Bellatrix focused on the feel of him penetrating her. He was stretching her walls, driving himself as deeply into her as she could take. It felt good, at the very deepest level, and Bellatrix stared up at his powerful face as she melted into the sensation.

"Bella," he murmured, leaning down and touching his forehead to hers, "Bella, I liked the smell of it. The iron in his blood as it was dripping from his hanging corpse. I could see him kissing you in your mind, and so his blood bore a powerful aroma for me, you understand?"

"Yes. I understand." Bellatrix dragged her hands over his close-cut hair, and she arched her back a little as his cock ground just so against her. She shut her eyes and whispered, "Do you know, I worship you more in those moments than any others? The moments when you cement your power through your incomparable skill? The moments when you destroy those who displease you. Your vicious moments. I worship you then with every fibre of my being."

"Bellatrix." She could feel his heart racing, and as he crushed her mouth with his, he thought fiercely toward her, I couldn't love. I didn't want to love. I was afraid of love.

"And yet, here I am," he panted, pulling his mouth from hers, "beside myself with love for you."

He came inside of her again, this time more quietly and peacefully, and Bellatrix prepared herself to be hoisted over onto her hands and knees and plundered from behind. But he had really finished now, apparently. He let his finally-softening cock slide out of her, and he carefully arranged himself on his back beside her. She curled up against him, sleepy and a little sore. She planted her hand on Voldemort's chest and shut her eyes, listening closely as he told her,

"You were expertly diplomatic to that silly Hufflepuff alumna who ran straight into you. You are so very skilled at painting a pretty picture on my behalf. And you are as bloodthirsty as I am, Bellatrix; you made his eyes bleed again and you liked it. You are deliciously cruel and fearsome in your calculating wisdom, and so I do not think it hyperbole to say that I find you very nearly perfect."

"Very nearly," Bellatrix said with a little smile, raising her eyes to him. "What can I improve for you, My Lord?"

He stared at her for so long, and his mind was so shut off to her, that she began to grow nervous. But he finally shook his head and shrugged.

"There's nothing to improve. All human beings are at least a little imperfect, but I'll be damned if you don't come much closer to the ideal than anybody else."

Bellatrix's eyes burned as she kissed his chest and felt her stomach grumble. She knew he could feel her hunger, and he sighed,

"I suppose we ought to get dressed and eat some dinner."

"I suppose so," Bellatrix agreed, but neither of them moved. They just lay there, tangled up together in silence, each in awe of the other's terrible, beautiful nature.


	3. Chapter 3

**Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **3 February 1972**

Lord Voldemort was awakened by the sound of porcelain and metal gently clinking together. As he rolled over and slowly opened his eyes, he saw Bellatrix walking into the bedroom, carefully carrying a tray of food. She was already dressed, he realised at once.

"What's this?" Voldemort asked, sitting up and leaning back against the heavy wooden headboard. Bellatrix smirked as she set the tray in his lap and pulled herself up to sit near his feet.

"It's exactly what it looks like," Bellatrix said. "Breakfast in bed. Though if I'd waited much longer, it would have had to be lunch in bed."

Voldemort frowned and glanced over to the clock on the wall. His eyebrows shot up as he exclaimed, "Ten fifteen! How on Earth did I sleep until ten fifteen?"

"You were very tired after… well, you know, after the Ministry and then the things that came afterward," Bellatrix said. She sighed gently and added, "I could feel how tired you were."

Voldemort glanced down at the tray to see two croissants, some apple slices with honey, and a glass of orange juice. He sipped from the juice and then murmured,

"Thanks for the food. I haven't missed any meetings, have I?"

"No, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him. He offered her one of the apple slices, and she chewed on it whilst he started on a croissant. He studied her pretty face for a moment, thinking back to the delicious violence and the voracious sex from the day before. No wonder he'd slept so long, he thought. Bellatrix finished her apple slice and said matter-of-factly,

"An owl came from Abraxas Malfoy with news from America. MACUSA is building itself back up in new headquarters; the last remaining pro-Rappaport fighters are surrendering or being captured. He estimates it will be a matter of six weeks or so before things in America are essentially the way they were before Roche's failed coup. So… there's that."

"There is that." Voldemort shrugged and noted, "Well, we had very little to do with the Americans before Roche dragged me over there. We'll have even less to do with them now. It doesn't matter. We'll find much closer allies in the French, the Norwegians, the Bulgarians, the Greeks… we don't need America."

Bellatrix nodded and reached for another apple slice, giving Voldemort a sly look as she did. He turned up half his mouth and handed her the apple. She smiled gratefully and chewed on it, and once she'd finished, she said,

"Dahlia Lestrange had the baby a few hours ago."

"I suppose I'm meant to want more detail on that," Voldemort said, scratching at his short-cropped hair. Bellatrix laughed a little and assured him,

"Mother and baby are both doing fine. It's a little girl. They've called her Rosemary. Rabastan Lestrange wrote to assure you he'll be back at work tomorrow."

"Write back and tell him to take a few days," Voldemort said gruffly, and Bellatrix sighed with relief.

"I think there is wisdom in that mercy, My Lord," she said. Voldemort threw up every Occlumency defence he had then, for he was all of a sudden taken back to the day that Bellatrix had been watching Ophelia's twins. He'd walked into the nursery and found her sitting with little Victor cradled in her arms. She'd been feeding the boy, humming him a lullaby and staring down at him with her curls over her eyes. She'd looked so natural, even though the child wasn't hers. She'd looked peaceful. Beautiful.

"You're hiding something from me," she said softly, and Voldemort shook his head as he stared at his orange juice.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

Bellatrix huffed out a breath and reached to cover his hand with hers. "I could feel you, and now I can't. Why did you pull away from me?"

Voldemort laced his fingers through hers and stared at their hands for a long moment. Finally, without looking up, he told her,

"You're only twenty years old. You had so many years, Bella, to really decide if you…"

He trailed off, not wanting to upset her. He raised his eyes to hers at last, and she nodded crisply.

"You think I made a mistake, getting the surgery. May I ask, My Lord, why you didn't tell me that before I had the surgery?"

"Because… you were very adamant about not wanting to be a mother," he said simply, "and though I am your husband, it is hardly my place to dictate such a thing to you."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open then, and she sounded almost shocked as she whispered, "You wanted a child. You still do."

Voldemort shook his head and reached for his wand, sending the tray of food flying slowly toward the desk in the corner. He heaved himself from the bed and insisted,

"I've told you, Bella, that Lord Voldemort needs no heir. I meant it."

He walked into the bathroom and wet his toothbrush in the sink, dipping it into the glass jar of powder he kept on the ledge. He started to scrub roughly at his teeth, feeling like a fool as he remembered his frightening lack of alarm when Bellatrix had exhibited symptoms of pregnancy. In fact, there had been a tiny corner of his mind that had wanted to see the test be black and positive. He spit out the tooth powder and rinsed his mouth, standing up to see Bellatrix's reflected in the mirror. She stood beside him, touching his bare shoulder as she said in a choked voice,

"If I'd known that you actually… that you wanted…"

"It wouldn't have made you actually want anything at all," Voldemort sighed. He pushed past her and made his way to the wardrobe as he said over his shoulder, "You made it incredibly clear, Bellatrix. You were afraid of the months of pregnancy, of giving birth, of being shackled to parenthood at the expense of your adventurous spirit. You made it clear that you much preferred life as a soldier over life as a mother. Who was I to try and convince you otherwise?"

"My husband," Bellatrix said simply. "You're my husband, and I wouldn't have… I did not intend to make that decision unilaterally."

He stared at her for a moment, thinking to himself - not for the first time - that she possessed a spirit far older than her youthful face portrayed. He gulped hard as he pulled trousers and a shirt and tie from the wardrobe. He yanked the trousers on and buttoned them, and he muttered to Bellatrix,

"In any case, it doesn't matter. What they did to you was permanent. It's too late to change any minds."

"What they did to me," Bellatrix repeated quietly, and as he pulled his dress shirt on, Voldemort saw her touch her hands to her lower abdomen. She felt sick all of a sudden. He could feel that through their connection. He felt something else, too. Regret. Confusion. Doubt.

"It's too late, Bella," he said again, buttoning up his shirt and tucking it into his trousers. He pulled the suspenders up over his shoulder and started to work on his tie. Bellatrix looked heartbroken then, and her voice croaked a little as she told him,

"I just thought… you know, that I would lose everything I've made with you."

Voldemort pursed his lips and shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Though, of course you could have had a nanny; we live in a castle that I could have expanded. Or you could have waited ten years, Bellatrix, because you're only twenty bloody years old. But it doesn't matter now, and it's too late, so let's just stop discussing it."

"But you'll never really forgive me, will you?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort shot her an angry look as he finished knotting his tie.

"Forgive you? Forgive you for what?" he snapped. "For knowing what you wanted? For insisting upon control of your own body, for desiring a warrior's life instead of… of…"

"Instead of being barefoot in the kitchen," Bellatrix finished for him, crossing her arms over her chest. He remembered the way she'd looked with flour in her hair, the way she'd looked kneading bread dough, and he turned his eyes away from her.

"You're most beautiful when your face is bathed in the red light of a Cruciatus Curse," he told her honestly, for she did look better then than any other time. She was pretty in the kitchen, and she'd been peaceful with the babies, but she was most beautiful when she was being vicious. He slid his tie bar off the shelf in his wardrobe, turning it over in his fingers as he remembered the night she'd given it to him. She'd been so terrified then, of him and of what it meant for him to want her. Voldemort slid the serpent bar onto his tie, dragged his tongue over his lip, and murmured, "Bella, I didn't fall in love with you for your womb, you understand?"

He stood to face Bellatrix properly, now that he was fully dressed. She had tears silently streaming down her pretty porcelain cheeks, and Voldemort felt himself drawn to her like a magnet. He put his hands on her cheeks, feeling the damp of her tears beneath his fingers. He lowered his mouth, feeling her lips shake beneath his, and then suddenly she began to really cry. Her hands grasped at his shirt, and she began to shake and sniffle as he kissed her more deeply.

"Bella," he said against her mouth. He stood back from her and said rather firmly, "Bella, you'll have the life you want, because you've earned it. I didn't mean to concern you with any of it; I can only keep my thoughts so private these days."

Bellatrix blinked a few times, her eyes shining with tears as a powerful anxiety rippled from her mind. Her lips parted and she hesitated before she said,

"If you want a child, My Lord, I'm sure there are plenty of beautiful young witches who would -"

"Stop it, Bellatrix," Voldemort seethed, but she kept right on.

"I wouldn't fault you at all, My Lord. Not one bit. And I know that there are hundreds of them who want you because I've read all their letters to you."

"Bellatrix," he breathed, taking a half step back from her and scowling in shock. She was frantic now, he could tell, for her breath and heart had quickened and her voice trembled ferociously as she whispered,

"I know my body's useless to you now, that I've done a stupid thing, that it can't be undone, that I can't give you what you want, and you deserve everything you want, so I'm very sorry. Very, very sorry. And I could help you find someone who -"

"Bellatrix Black!" Voldemort bellowed, seizing her by the shoulders and shaking her wildly. She only partially snapped to rights, and he shook her again as he roared, "I will not stand here and allow you to spew that nonsense. Now you listen to me, little girl, and you listen well. I married you because I loved you, and I did not love you because you were a broodmare. I love you now for your intelligence, for your fearless battle skills, for your wit and your humour. I love your body, but not because it can create more bodies. I love your breasts and your lips and your curls and your eyes. I do not love your bloody fucking uterus. Do you understand me?"

She said nothing. She just stared and shrugged, and Voldemort shut his eyes as he said more gently,

"I would never, not in a thousand years, put my cock into some other witch for the purposes of bouncing a baby nine months later. If I ever saw - however distantly - smoky images of my own child, it was in your arms and no one else's. That hazy illusion, that hallucination… it's gone now, and I do not fault you for getting that surgery done. You said it yourself to me, when the test was still processing. I want a life with you, My Lord. Only you. You were quite clear, and I harbour precisely no bitterness on the matter."

He opened his eyes to see that Bellatrix had closed in on herself. She'd folded her arms over her chest and had hunched over a little. Her eyes were on her feet, and her hair nearly covered her face. He tried to feel what she was feeling, but he couldn't. She'd closed herself off to him just like he'd done to her. Voldemort threw his hands up and considered reminding her that he was the Dark Lord, that he didn't have the time or energy to waste on this. He wanted to go straight over to Rabastan Lestrange's house and berate the man for his wife giving birth, for none of this would have exploded without Bellatrix announcing the arrival of Lestrange's baby. Instead, Voldemort wrapped Bellatrix up in his arms, breathing in the fresh scent of her hair, and he whispered,

"Let's go to Spain."

"Is there really no way to reverse the surgery?" Bellatrix asked, her voice muffled by Voldemort's shirt. He swallowed hard and softened his tone.

"No," he told her. "It's too late, and it doesn't matter, so let's go to Spain."

She raised her eyes to him and reminded him, "You said there was a way… with very Dark magic…"

"That's not what you want, and you know it," Voldemort insisted. He closed his eyes and tried desperately to get the memory of her holding Ophelia's son out of his mind. He tried not to imagine her humming to her baby and then handing the child off to a safe set of arms so Bellatrix could go conduct diplomacy or spread terror. Voldemort tried not to imagine those things, but of course he imagined them anyway. He shook his head and said quite firmly, "We are going to Spain. Now. Today. Pack your bag."

He wrenched himself away from Bellatrix, forcing himself to step quickly across the bedroom and down the stairs to his office. If they were going to be gone for a week, he had some letters to write.

* * *

 **Málaga, Spain**

 **6 February 1972**

"You look entirely too comfortable up there, Madam Black."

Bellatrix grinned as she turned to face Voldemort, who had shouted over the roar of the boat's engine at her. She was kneeling on the leather seat in the bow of a luxury wooden bowrider, watching the city's coast go by as they bounced across the waves.

Earlier this afternoon, Voldemort had had the novel idea of Imperiusing the Muggle marina manager into giving him the keys to a very expensive Chris Craft vessel. The poor man would have no idea how or why the shiny wooden speed boat had disappeared. Now Voldemort was steering the boat up and down the coastline, and Bellatrix was soaking in the sun in her revealing black swim costume.

She wrapped her hands around the edge of the boat, her curls whipping madly about her in the wind. She studied the way Voldemort looked at the helm, his white linen shirt completely unbuttoned and his newly-shaven head getting tinged slightly pink by the sun. She felt happy - truly happy - for the first time in a great long while. She shouted over the wind,

"My Lord, will you stop and anchor soon so I can swim?"

Voldemort smirked and adjusted the throttle, decelerating the boat until it was much quieter.

"You do actually know how to swim, don't you?" he asked, and Bellatrix laughed. She nodded and assured him,

"My father taught me how to swim in the sea off Cornwall when I was a girl. I'll be just fine."

He stared at her for a long moment as he slowed the boat further, and Bellatrix could feel every thought he was having about her. He thought she looked very sexy in her swimming costume, that her hair had never been more beautiful, that he was very much looking forward to seeing her sopping wet.

Bellatrix watched as he searched around for the anchor. He finally found a wooden lid that opened to reveal a heavy metal anchor with a long spiral of rope. Voldemort heaved the anchor overboard, and the rope slithered quickly down over the edge of the boat in to the water. He turned to face Bellatrix and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well?"

"Well what… My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, leaning hard on the side of the boat as it bobbed in the gentle waves. Voldemort shrugged.

"Go on in, then, if you're going."

"You're not coming with me?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort shook his head slowly.

"I'd rather watch."

Bellatrix smirked at that. She stepped up onto the cream leather seat and shot her husband one last look. Then she hurled herself over the edge of the boat, careening into the azure blue water. She tried not to gasp underwater, for it was a bit colder than it had looked. It felt good to be surrounded by the sea, to feel the bubbles from her jump sliding up around her skin. She swam upward, kicking her legs and pumping her arms until her head broke through the water's surface. She giggled like a child, shoving her drenched curls away from her face as she began treading water. Voldemort was standing on the stolen boat, his arms still crossed and a very satisfied little smile on his lips.

"Like what you see?" Bellatrix teased him, floating up onto her back and moving her limbs as elegantly as she could. She pushed herself away from the boat, relishing the smell of the salt and the chill of the water. She could feel Voldemort's throbbing want all the way from the boat. Bellatrix pulled herself up again, treading water as she smiled up at him.

"Why won't you come in?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"I'm not wearing a swimming costume," he said, and Bellatrix scoffed.

"But you passed second-year Transfiguration, did you not?"

Voldemort sat in the pilot's chair and made himself look very comfortable. He was happy, Bellatrix could feel. He was more deeply happy than he'd been in a very long time. He liked killing. He liked power. But he was genuinely happy here, bobbing off the coast of Spain, staring at his pretty young wife where she swam in the water.

"I love you," Bellatrix said suddenly, unable to keep from doing so. Voldemort's face went serious, and he nodded as he said so quietly she could hardly hear him,

"And I love you, little thing. That water's colder than you thought."

"It is, a little," Bellatrix admitted, starting to swim back toward the boat. "I suppose it is February, after all."

She kept swimming toward the boat as Voldemort peeled off his white linen shirt. He aimed his wand at the shirt and muttered a spell, and Bellatrix couldn't help but laugh as she watched it Transfigure into a fluffy white towel. She heaved herself up the ladder at the back of the boat, and she let Voldemort wrap her in the towel as he told her,

"I believe that one was fifth-year Transfigurations, but I could be wrong."

"You're almost certainly right," Bellatrix sighed. She wrapped the towel more tightly around herself and sat in the second pilot's chair. Voldemort sank back into his own seat, shirtless now, and flicked his eyes up and down Bellatrix's body.

"You're awfully pretty when you're all wet and covered in sunlight," he told her, and Bellatrix curled up half her mouth. She picked at the towel and thought back over the last few days they'd spent here in Spain. Delicious food, more than a little drink, twilight walks on the sandy beach and what felt like neverending sex. It had been a dream, except for the question that Bellatrix kept wanting to ask. Now, here on the boat they'd stolen from some rich, hapless Muggle, she found the courage to say,

"Please tell me. Please tell me what would have to happen."

He knew exactly what she meant, and when she raised her eyes to him, all the joy had gone out of his gaze. His throat bobbed and he shook his head.

"It's not a process I want for you."

"How did you learn about all of this, anyway?" Bellatrix dared to ask. Voldemort drummed his fingers on the shiny walnut steering wheel and stared off at the horizon, seeming to remember something from a distant time and place.

"If you spend ten years wandering around in search of Dark knowledge, you're bound to learn some things that even the Dark Lord himself finds unsavoury."

Bellatrix felt helpless. She hadn't wanted a child, not at all. She'd been convinced that she would never want one for as long as she lived. But the moment she'd learnt that Voldemort had even the slightest desire for a child, she'd been unable to sleep without imagining herself bearing his child. Whatever he wanted, she wanted. Whatever he needed, she would give him. She had been made for him. She lived for him. And if she could make him happy, or at least satisfied, it would mean bliss for her.

"Please tell me," Bellatrix mumbled. She wrenched the towel around herself, shivering despite it, pleading with her eyes as she said one more time, "Please. Please tell me."

Voldemort turned his face slowly toward her, the horizon rising and falling steadily behind him. He dragged his tongue over his teeth and hesitated, his unease radiating straight into Bellatrix's mind.

"You have to steal it," he said, and Bellatrix narrowed her eyes.

"You have to… steal fertility?"

Voldemort nodded once, his lips in a straight line. "It doesn't need to be a witch; it could be any fertile female human. Fertility, believe it or not, is transferrable, but the magic required to take it from one woman and put it into another is… not pretty."

"Not pretty," Bellatrix repeated. "I've seen some very ugly things, My Lord; what does not pretty mean?"

"The only descriptions I've seen are from arcane texts," Voldemort admitted, "and the third-hand account of a Dark Croatian witch specialising in immortality. The… victim… has her fertility drawn out one bit at a time, and as that happens, her body ages rapidly. The process inevitably kills the victim, over the course of many painful hours. The recipient witch slowly gains fertility, and her body becomes frozen in the peak of fertile youth. No ageing spell or potion could add a day to her appearance or physical composition."

Bellatrix frowned. "So it's a few hours of agony for some random Muggle, and I'd stay like this forever. I can't see what's so bad about that."

Voldemort sighed and dragged his fingers over the steering wheel, studying the grain of the wood as the stolen boat slowly bobbed.

"The bad part," he said carefully, "is that even if the process is successful, there's a fifty percent chance of stillbirth for any pregnancy."

"Oh." Bellatrix's stomach churned a little at that, at the thought of excruciating labour leading to a motionless, purple baby. She shut her eyes and felt that Voldemort was sharing the same horrifying vision - Bellatrix cradling a baby whose eyes would never open, whose cry would never sound. A fifty percent chance was more than substantial.

"P-perhaps… perhaps ten years from now," Bellatrix said quietly, "if it feels urgent and necessary, perhaps you could try and find some way to get that fifty percent down. If anyone could do it, it's you."

Voldemort shook his head and moved to wind the anchor back up. Once the heavy anchor pulled out of the water, he tucked it away and closed the wooden lid. He returned to the pilot's chair and put the boat back into gear. He turned his face to Bellatrix and said firmly,

"There's some magic, Madam Black, with which even I do not play."

The boat thrust forward across the waves, and for awhile Bellatrix just sat there in silence, the towel that had been her husband's shirt wrapped tightly around her.

"We should go home," she said suddenly, turning to see whether Voldemort had heard her. He turned the boat back toward the city, and he nodded as he thought straight toward her,

 _Holidays are all well and good, but I've a kingdom to run._

Bellatrix took the towel from her body, using her own wand to return it to its former state as a shirt. She put it carefully in Voldemort's lap and reached for her black sundress, yanking it over her head and sitting back down. As Voldemort slowed the boat near the marina, he said carefully,

"You're right. If anyone could fix that terrible, hideous, gaping flaw in the process, it's me. And I would fix it, too, if you ever wanted me to. But it would have to be you who wanted it, Bella, you understand? Not me. You."

"Both of us," Bellatrix corrected him. He said nothing to that, but she could feel a strange pull of emotion from him. There was a flash, a vision that she knew was his and not hers. It was Bellatrix, sitting with Victor cradled in her arms, her voice humming a lullaby. Bellatrix felt her eyes burn as Voldemort pulled the boat back into the berth from which they'd stolen it. He hopped quickly out of the boat onto the dock and began tying the boat up with ropes so expertly that Bellatrix couldn't help wondering how much boating experience he had. She waited until the boat was secured, and when Voldemort held his hand out to her, she curled her fingers around his and stepped up out of the boat.

Once she was on the dock, staring up at the man who was absolutely everything to her, she found herself overcome with a desperate need to say three simple words.

"I want it."

"No, you don't," Voldemort said at once, and he started to walk away. Bellatrix squeezed the hand he'd offered her, wrenching him back toward her. His eyes flashed, and in his mind, a confused tangle of hope and disbelief swirled. Bellatrix studied his head, which she'd shaved for him just this morning when he'd complained that even his short hair was getting far too grey for his liking. She studied his lips, the ones that tasted so very delicious and sang beautifully when he was so inclined. She studied his eyes, feeling his Darkness radiate from his very being, and she said with all the confidence in the world,

"I want it."

For a terrifying second, she couldn't tell if he was going to cry, to shove her into the dirty marina water, or to simply Disapparate away from her. His face twisted strangely, and the complicated buzz of emotion in his head grew more cacophonous. He could feel her the same way she could feel him, she knew. He could tell she meant what she said, even if she didn't quite understand why she meant it. He dragged his thumb over Bellatrix's, and she watched his throat bob as he nodded once and said in a cold tone,

"Fine. Do you prefer your victim Spanish or English?"

Bellatrix blinked, her heart racing as she whispered, "Spanish."

* * *

 **Málaga, Spain**

 **7 February 1972**

 _"Imperio."_ Lord Voldemort strengthened his Imperius Curse on the tan-skinned Muggle woman they'd lured back to their hotel. Voldemort had used his mediocre Spanish to ask the woman for directions after she'd left a grocery market, and then he'd swiftly Imperiused her. Now he needed more information before they went through with all of this. He gestured toward the chair in the corner and ordered the woman, " _Siéntase en la silla._ "

The woman moved wordlessly to sit, and Bellatrix asked nervously, "Can you find out how old she is? Whether she has children?"

 _"Legilimens,"_ Voldemort said smoothly, and he crashed straight into the woman's weak mind. He searched for her family, and he immediately found images of the woman cooking in her kitchen whilst a man who was clearly her husband played with twin boys and a bouncing little girl.

"Three children," Voldemort murmured to Bellatrix. "Two boys and a girl. _¿Cuantos años tiene, cariña?"_

 _"Treinta. Tengo treinta años,"_ The Muggle woman said confidently, and Voldemort flicked his eyes to Bellatrix.

"She's thirty. Her youngest is perhaps a year old. She'll do."

Bellatrix sat on the bed, crossing her legs and setting her wand on the coverlet before her. She was terribly anxious, Voldemort could tell. She knew she wanted this, but she couldn't get the image of a dead baby out of her mind.

"No matter what, Bellatrix, I will never let that happen," Voldemort said sternly. "Tell me now. Last chance. Is this what you want? To never age, even as I grow old? I can use potions to make myself look young, but you understand the difference? You'll actually be young, forever. And it may not work; this is only creating a possibility where one does not currently exist."

"I want it," Bellatrix nodded firmly. Voldemort stepped over to the bed and cupped her jaw in his hand, pressing his lips to hers and reminding her, "This is going to take a while, and we'll just have to Vanish her once it's done. Promise me you want it, little thing."

Bellatrix covered his hand with hers and stared right into his eyes. "I want it."

Voldemort felt something soften inside of him, even as something hardened inside of her. She'd become resolved, he could tell. He'd explained that he would never allow her to sacrifice her love for battle, her skillful diplomacy, in the name of motherhood. She'd go on being her beautiful vicious self, he'd promised. Just last night, he'd perceived a dream in her mind in which she and a little girl with springy brown hair were playing hide-and-seek inside Archer's Edge whilst Voldemort looked on with a rather adoring smirk. That dream had pushed her entirely over the edge, and today she'd been so steely in her determination that it had almost frightened Voldemort. He tightened his hand on her jaw a little and reminded her,

"No promises. None. But I'll do the best I can."

"I know you will," Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort turned back to the Spanish Muggle woman, who looked confused and drowsy where she sat in the chair. Voldemort cleared his throat and aimed his wand at her.

 _"Immobulus. Silencio Trio."_

That would keep the woman quiet and still, Voldemort thought. He glanced over his shoulder to Bellatrix, who picked up her wand, and he instructed her, "Get comfortable."

She did, leaning back on the pillows a little with her legs still crossed. Voldemort could still remember the exact way the haggard old witch in Croatia had described this process. The witch had claimed to be seven hundred years old, and with her extensive knowledge about Horcruxes and Inferi and matters like this, Voldemort was inclined to believe her. He dragged his wand from the Spanish Muggle woman toward Bellatrix and said firmly,

 _"Precipio tibi, da illi fecunditas tua."_

A steady wisp of shimmering golden light began to pull from the Muggle woman's motionless body. It traveled through the air, crossing the room and settling like a cloud on Bellatrix. Voldemort watched as the Muggle woman's face instantaneously gained fresh lines. A few stray strands of grey worked their way through her hair. He turned to Bellatrix and so no demonstrable difference in her appearance, though she seemed a little surprised by the way the golden light had made her heart accelerate a little. Voldemort waited a long moment, not wanting to rush this. He studied Bellatrix for a moment and asked,

"How do you feel?"

"The same, really," she said. He could swear he watched some of the shadows beneath her eyes - put there by battle and sickness over the last few years - fade a bit. But, he thought, he could have been imagining it. After several minutes of heavy silence, he turned his attention back to the Muggle woman and aimed his wand at her again. He tapped the air lightly and said once more,

 _"Precipio tibi, da illi fecunditas tua."_

More golden light pulled forth from the woman, slithering through the air like smoke and settling over Bellatrix again. After a moment, Bellatrix scowled, and her hand flew between her legs.

"What's wrong?" Voldemort snapped, and she looked a little embarrassed as she made her way off the bed.

"Just got my period, that's all," she declared, making her way rather awkwardly to the bathroom. Voldemort let her take her time in there attending to herself. He knew that witches had spells, almost secrets from wizards, meant to help absorb monthly blood. Even as he paced in the room, he couldn't help feeling a little rush of satisfaction at the notion that she was bleeding. If she was bleeding, then it was already starting to work. Perhaps, Voldemort thought, this process took longer and was more complicated when it was a forty-five year old menopausal witch longing for a child. Bellatrix had had surgery, but she was still only twenty and was almost certainly naturally fertile.

She emerged from the bathroom with her chin tipped up almost defensively. She cleared her throat and told Voldemort,

"Perfectly normal bleeding for a witch whose body hasn't been tampered with. Sorry for the delay."

"It's precisely no trouble," Voldemort assured her. He waited until she had pulled herself back up onto the bed, and he asked lightly, "Ready?"

She nodded, so he turned back to the still, quiet Muggle woman who now looked as though she was much closer to forty than thirty. He sighed and brought his wand up again.

 _"Precipio tibi, da illi fecunditas tua."_

Once again the golden light was drawn forth and moved over to Bellatrix. The Muggle woman's hands that gripped the arms of the chair looked wrinkled on the back now, and her dark hair was equal parts black and grey. Her face looked exhausted and wrinkled. Bellatrix, for her part, looked refreshed, her skin smooth and creamy, her eyes dark but shining. Voldemort realised that this process was erasing all the evidence of the difficult life she'd had since she'd met him. All the many hours spent casting Cruciatus Curses and Killing Curses, time passed in wild windstorms, endless Disapparating, world travel… it had been just enough to make the last few years visible on her face. She looked now just exactly as she'd looked the first time he'd ever been alone with her. She looked just the same as the day he'd put the Dark Mark on her in the Doxy's Nest. Bright and Dark at once, slim but not skinny, with just the first curves of womanhood on her form. Her hair was shinier; her lips weren't chapped. She looked like her newly devoted seventeen-year-old self. Once Voldemort realised she would look like that forever, he felt a strange pull in his chest. She just stared at him, perfectly able to feel his thoughts. Voldemort turned his wand back to the Muggle woman and said very firmly,

 _"Precipio tibi, da illi fecunditas tua."_

This time, the golden light that pulled out of the woman was stronger and seemed to glitter. It flowed more quickly around Bellatrix, and the Muggle woman suddenly looked as though she were at least seventy or eighty years of age. She looked frail, drawn, shriveled, and white. Bellatrix gasped and murmured,

"I swear I can feel something happening with my insides."

"You probably can," Voldemort said, thinking that her severed tubes and empty ovaries were probably healing themselves back up. He winced a little as he contemplated just what the surgery had done to her body. Bellatrix raised her shining dark eyes to him, her hands planted on her lower abdomen, and she shook her head in confusion.

"I thought this was meant to take a very long time."

Voldemort sighed and shrugged. "You're a young witch, and I'm a very powerful wizard. The crone in Croatia didn't exactly give me a to-the-minute timing. We'll keep going until she's dead."

The Muggle woman, he meant, and as he turned back to her, he could tell she didn't have much left to give. She was still motionless and silent, but Voldemort was curious. He peered into her mind with Legilimency and felt only a dull throb of grief and fear. Even her clear thoughts had left her. Voldemort pulled out of her mind and aimed his wand at her again.

 _"Precipio tibi, da illi fecunditas tua."_

The golden light soared straight from the Muggle woman and smashed against Bellatrix, eliciting a small yelp. Then a finally ball of silver light, tight and glowing, emerged from the woman's chest and hovered in the air for a moment. It dissolved into a thousand tiny sparks that faded like dust, and the woman's head slumped down onto her chest. She was white-haired now, as wrinkled and compact as a 100-year-old woman. The thirty-year-old mother was gone, replaced by an aged, drained corpse.

"Is she dead?" Bellatrix asked from the bed, and Voldemort nodded simply as he aimed his wand at the Muggle and said simply,

 _"Corpus Evanesco."_

The body Vanished into non-being, as so many bodies had done before at the whim of Voldemort's and Bellatrix's wands. He turned to face Bellatrix, amazed again at the subtle but powerful way she seemed more vibrant and just a hair younger than before. He swallowed hard and asked once more,

"How do you feel?"

"New," she said simply. Voldemort nodded and told her,

"We'll stay here a few more days. I'll write to Malfoy to let him know when we'll be home. Once we're certain everything is fine, we'll make a Portkey and go back to England."

He started toward the bathroom, suddenly feeling in desperate need of a shower. He turned the taps on and waited for the water to get hot, and then he felt Bellatrix's mind invade his so that she could think toward him in a clear tone,

 _Thank you, My Lord._

Voldemort stepped into the shower and let the hot water caress his newly-shaven head as he thought right back toward her,

You know I'd give us the world if I could, little thing. I can only hope I've succeeded in giving us this.

* * *

 **Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **11 February, 1972**

"Welcome back, My Lord," said Abraxas Malfoy as Bellatrix led him into Voldemort's office.

"Thank you," Voldemort said in a clip from his desk. "So. Did any tragedies befall our dominion in my absence this time?"

Malfoy smirked a little and said carefully, "No tragedies, My Lord. But… there is one person I wish to discuss with you, if you have the time."

Voldemort pursed his lips and gestured for Malfoy and Bellatrix to sit. He shrugged and demanded, "Well? Who is it, then?"

"It's Tudor Yaxley, My Lord," Malfoy said, seeming almost distraught. "He has, apparently, been making insubordinate statements in his new post."

"What sort of insubordinate statements?" Voldemort asked dryly. Malfoy hesitated but admitted,

"One of his co-workers came directly to me about the matter. There was a conversation happening about a low-level worker's impending marriage. 'Be careful that you've filled out all the paperwork and asked all the right people, or else they'll have you scrubbing floors by hand.' That is what Yaxley said. I corroborated it with others who were in the room."

Voldemort felt his cheeks flush hot, and he hissed, "I gave him the option of being content in his demotion or a long sentence in Azkaban. Clearly, he has chosen the latter."

"My Lord, if I may speak. Please?" Bellatrix had gone a bit white, and Voldemort raised his eyebrows expectantly. Bellatrix was calm and collected as she said, "Tudor Yaxley is a member of one of the most powerful and important Pureblood families. His new wife, for whatever disobedience their marriage entailed, is similarly from a powerful background. You've told me yourself how very crucial it is that you maintain the unanimous support of all the important wizarding families. Demoting Tudor Yaxley and taking his estate away dealt a serious blow to the pride of both the Yaxley and Greengrass families. I fear - and, My Lord, forgive me if I overreach the bounds of what I may say, but… I fear that throwing Yaxley into Azkaban over this may make you appear… petty and insecure."

"Petty and insecure," Voldemort repeated, and Malfoy squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. Bellatrix tipped her head up a little, as if to remind him that she was the champion diplomat in the room. Voldemort drummed his fingers on his desk and asked,

"Well, Madam Black, what do you suggest I do to ameliorate the situation?"

Bellatrix stared at Abraxas Malfoy, who turned his wide, pale eyes to her and looked very uncertain. Bellatrix's voice was level as she asked him, "Minister Malfoy, would you say that the punishment you received for wounding your wife in an argument was just and appropriate?"

Malfoy gulped visibly as he remembered the way Voldemort had cast a Cruciatus Curse upon him in front of Lucius and Cerda. Malfoy nodded vigorously.

"The punishment fit the crime, My Lady, and I have certainly since abided by the Dark Lord's instruction to be careful and gentle with my wife."

Bellatrix turned her face back to Voldemort. "Tudor Yaxley is an arrogant man," she conceded, "but I think there is one last step before you risk the fallout of throwing him into Azkaban. Bring him here, Cruciate him and demand his complete submission, in public and in private. Look into his mind to read his intentions. If you are not satisfied, or if he disobeys you again… execute him. That is my suggestion, My Lord."

Malfoy's eyes went wider than ever, and Voldemort flashed the Minister cocky little smile. He jerked his head toward Bellatrix and noted, "You were right that one time, Malfoy. She is awfully good at her job, isn't she? Right. Let me get him here."

He pulled back his left sleeve and touched his wand to it, shutting his eyes and Summoning Tudor Yaxley through the ether. Bellatrix rose from her chair and said gently,

"May I get either of you anything to drink whilst we wait?"

"Firewhisky all around," Voldemort said simply, and Bellatrix nodded. She went over to the drink cart in the counter and poured out a few fingers' worth of firewhisky into three tumblers. She put them on a little tray and brought them back to Voldemort's desk, setting one before her husband first. She gave one to Malfoy and put one in front of her own chair. She Banished the tray back to the cart and picked up her own drink, raising it to Malfoy as she said confidently,

"To the Dark Lord Voldemort. May his reign be glorious and eternal."

"To the Dark Lord," Malfoy repeated, raising his own glass and nodding at Voldemort. The two of them sipped their firewhisky, and suddenly Voldemort realised that Valentine's Day was only a few days away. Somehow he'd forgotten entirely about it, probably because it was an asinine excuse for a "holiday." But the way Bellatrix had just toasted him, the way she'd once again come rushing in with her indomitable logic, made him remember how fiercely he loved her, and that made him think of Valentine's Day. He would have to arrange for something, he thought. She was the consort of the Dark Lord. It couldn't be anything maudlin or contrived, but it needed to be significant. He'd have to think hard on it.

"My Lord, I come bearing Mr Tudor Yaxley for you," said the wheezy voice of one of the House-Elves, an old female called Tossy. Voldemort nodded at Tossy, who gestured into the office. Tudor Yaxley came stepping inside, and at once Voldemort could feel the terror radiating off of him. Abraxas Malfoy rose from his chair and took a few steps back, and Bellatrix just stared down at her drink. Voldemort stayed sitting.

"Yaxley," he said smoothly, "Come here."

Tudor Yaxley bowed deeply and then took a few over eager steps forward.

"M-My Lord, I hope your trip was -"

"I did not ask you to speak," Voldemort hissed, and Yaxley's face went red as a tomato. Voldemort pulled himself up slowly to stand, leaning on his desk and glaring at Yaxley as he said in a dangerous voice, "I gave you mercy. Judging by the derogatory comments you continue making about my policies, it was mercy you did not earn. I am not interested in your excuses, nor in your explanations. You will feel my wrath now and you will obey me every moment that you live henceforth. You will obey and honour me, Yaxley, or you will die. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes, My Lord," Yaxley said, lowering his head.

"Get on your knees; I don't want you breaking any of my furniture if you fall," Voldemort sneered. Yaxley looked more frightened than ever as he sank onto his knees. Malfoy looked uncertain about whether he should stay, but he did not move since he had not been commanded to do so. Voldemort picked his thin, knobby wand up and made his way slowly around the desk. He paused in front of Bellatrix, knowing that Malfoy and Yaxley were watching. He stared Bellatrix right in her eyes, but he spoke to Yaxley as he said,

"I did not need anyone's permission to marry Bellatrix Black. In fact, I notified her parents once it was already done. I needed no permission because I am Lord Voldemort, and there is no one to punish me for doing as I please. Do you understand me, Yaxley?"

"I do, My Lord," the man said in a shaking voice. Bellatrix's gaze grew very intense, and Voldemort thought right at her,

 _Kiss me. Hard._

She set her firewhisky down on his desk and put her hands on his smooth cheeks. She raised herself up onto her tiptoes and pulled him down a little, her movements visibly submissive as she pushed her lips up against his.

 _Harder,_ Voldemort thought, and Bellatrix moaned audibly as she pulled him down against her mouth. She pushed her tongue up between his lips and stroked at the roof of his mouth. Her left hand trailed down his neck and over his shoulder, and he knew it was to draw attention to the onyx-and-diamond ring on her finger.

Yaxley liked his witches young. That much was clear. He'd chosen Ophelia Selwyn as soon as he could, and now he had little Daisy Greengrass in his bed. Lord Voldemort hadn't chosen Bellatrix because she was young, but just now he knew the optics were effective. Yaxley had been humiliated and his life was at risk because he'd taken his young wife without permission. Voldemort had done exactly the same thing, and now his pretty wife was kissing him in his office, in the castle from which he reigned over wizarding Britain.

 _That'll do,_ Voldemort thought at Bellatrix, and she pulled away from him, making herself look dizzier than she really felt. Voldemort didn't look back at her as he took a few steps toward where Yaxley knelt on the rug.

"You will never speak ill of me again, Yaxley, or you'll see a green flash of light and nothing after that. Understood?"

"Y-yes, My Lord," Yaxley stammered. Voldemort sighed and aimed his wand at Yaxley, tipping his head as he promised,

"This will help you remember. _Crucio!_ "

The spell's scarlet web of light shot forth and wrapped around Yaxley, who collapsed onto the ground and began shrieking in agony. Abraxas Malfoy winced, almost certainly remembering his out bout with the curse. Voldemort was careful not to hold the spell too long; he needed Yaxley repentant and fearful, not damaged. He broke the spell after less than a minute, and he sniffed lightly as Yaxley rolled on the rug, moaning in pain.

"Stand up," Voldemort snapped, and Yaxley shook as he slowly heaved himself to his feet. He used his sleeve to swipe tears and drool from his face, and he lowered his face in submission. Voldemort used nonverbal Legilimency to look into Yaxley's mind. He found no bitterness, no intention of further insubordination. All he felt was fear, awe, and a determination to be more obedient to this terrible Dark Lord. Bellatrix had been right, Voldemort thought as he pulled out of Yaxley's mind. This had been the correct path.

"Minister Malfoy, I suspect Mr Yaxley is in no state to Apparate at the moment," Voldemort said crisply. "Will you kindly take him home to his wife and his children?"

"Of course, Master. A very good day to you. And to you, My Lady," Malfoy nodded. He waited for Yaxley to bow deeply, and then the two of them walked from the room. Yaxley was stumbling like a drunkard, but Voldemort knew he'd gotten the right message. Once they'd gone, Bellatrix crossed the office and shut the door. She twisted her hands before her and said,

"I hope I didn't overreach in front of Malfoy."

"Not at all. You were right," Voldemort told her. He waited a few more moments and then asked her, "Has the bleeding stopped?"

She nodded. "Nothing more since last night."

Voldemort gnawed on his lip and said, "I still want to wait a while. You know, to actually… try. I have quite a lot of research to do about…"

About the matter of stillbirths. That was what was left unsaid, though of course they both fully understood what he'd meant. Bellatrix nodded and asked,

"Do you think it would be risky in any way to use a contraceptive spell for the time being?"

"I'm hesitant to interfere any further with your actual fertility if we have any aspirations of… parenthood," Voldemort said carefully. "A combination of timing and pulling out is hardly foolproof, but it's better than nothing, and it certainly puts this entire process at less risk."

"And if I get pregnant anyway?" Bellatrix asked, her eyes shining. Voldemort squared his jaw and shrugged,

"Then I'd have nine months to try and get that fifty percent chance much closer to zero. Don't expect me to keep my hands off of you for any demonstrable amount of time."

Bellatrix laughed quietly. "No, My Lord. I would never expect that."

"Thank you," he said, "for your diplomatic mind and for kissing me in front of them."

Bellatrix took a few steps toward him and put her hands back on his cheeks. "I'll kiss you to make someone jealous, or to punish someone," she whispered. "I've no problem at all with that. Still, I prefer kissing you when we're alone."

He lowered his face to hers, his lips hovering a hair's breath away as he murmured, "Go on, then, little thing. We're alone. Kiss me."

She did, tasting more delicious than ever as he wrapped his arms around her and thought once again that he'd best get around to planning something for Valentine's Day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **14 February 1972**

Bellatrix awoke to the sound of a piano.

She frowned deeply, confused, because she was relatively certain that the only piano in the castle was located much too far away to be heard from the bedroom. Bellatrix sat up slowly, looking at the clock on the wall and seeing that it wasn't quite six-thirty. Then she gasped quietly, for her eyes settled upon an orb floating in the air before her.

Bellatrix pulled herself from the bed and walked toward the orb. It seemed to be made of glass, but inside there was a flurry of gold and silver sparks. And the piano music was coming from the orb itself. The orb began slowly floating away from Bellatrix, through the doorway and toward the stairwell. Bellatrix padded behind the orb, her flowing white nightgown trailing behind her.

She worked her way down the stairs in pursuit of the orb, which floated rather contentedly in what seemed to be a rather determined path. Bellatrix made her way through the cloisters that connected the castle's towers. Bellatrix stepped through the streams of glowing grey light, her bare feet plodding on the carpets. The orb sped up just enough that Bellatrix broke into a little trot. The scherzo playing on the piano became more energetic, and soon enough Bellatrix found herself breathlessly following the orb into one of the castle's parlours.

Then she stopped, panting and pushing her hair out of her eyes. The orb dissolved into the air as though it had been made of breath. The piano music faded into silence, and Bellatrix found herself face-to-face with Lord Voldemort. She quirked her mouth up and said quietly,

"Quite a way to wake a girl up, making her run through the halls in pursuit of -"

He cut her off by kissing her hard, his right hand flying to the small of her back and his left one snarling in her curls. Bellatrix squealed a little and felt a surge of arousal flare up between both of them. When Voldemort pulled away at last, Bellatrix felt more breathless than ever.

"My Lord," she whispered, for his eyes were blazing furiously.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Bellatrix," he said back, his voice awfully serious. He reached into the pocket of his outer robe and pulled something out, and when Bellatrix saw that it was a bracelet, she said quietly,

"I suppose the last bracelet you gave me isn't meant for wrists anymore."

Her mind flew at once to her Horcrux, the serpent bracelet he'd given her that now lay beneath the floorboards of the Doxy's Nest. Voldemort sighed, and she knew he was thinking of the same thing. He reached for her hand and clasped the bracelet onto her wrist. Bellatrix stared down in awe; the bracelet was made from an intricate pattern of diamonds, emeralds, and onyx. There was a large oval onyx in the middle with more diamonds and emeralds surrounding it. Bellatrix tried to control her breath, and she raised her eyes to Voldemort and said sincerely,

"Thank you. What a beautiful Valentine's Day gift, My Lord."

He scoffed and stared down at her wrist. "That's just an hors d'oeuvre," he informed her. "It's only six thirty in the morning."

Bellatrix smiled a little and teased him, "I thought you regarded Valentine's Day as very silly."

"It is silly," Voldemort said, raising an eyebrow. "That doesn't mean I can't be silly right along with it. It's only one day a year, after all."

Bellatrix reached over to him and grazed her fingers over the front of his trousers. Voldemort hissed softly and covered her hand with his.

"I have early meetings at the Ministry," he reminded her. She knew that, of course; she'd set up the meetings herself. Voldemort wanted, in the two months leading up to the anniversary of Dumbledore's death, to cement the loyalty of everyone who possessed a modicum of authority. It was all pretend for them, of course; he was only letting them handle the minutiae that was too boring for him to deal with. But there would be balls and celebrations on the first anniversary of the day Lord Voldemort had vanquished his worst enemy, the day that his revolution had begun. Today he had meetings with the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the heads of the Department of Mysteries, the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. He was booked solid until five in the evening. Bellatrix nodded and took a step back as she said,

"I appreciate you making your romantic gesture on such an admittedly silly day in the morning. That way I can spend the whole day staring at my wrist."

"Did you not hear me?" he asked, pushing up an eyebrow. "The bracelet is just a taste. Now go get dressed; I want you at all of my meetings today."

"At the Ministry?" Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. "My Lord, I thought those meetings were one-on-one. All of them. Of course, if you feel it's appropriate to have your secretary -"

"Not my secretary. My lady." He tipped his head and gave her a very serious look. "You walk beside me now, Bella."

"I walk a step behind you," she whispered, as if to remind him, but he shook his head.

"Not anymore. Go get dressed."

* * *

 **Ministry of Magic, London**

 **14 February 1972**

"Well, Madam Clarke, it was an honour to make your acquaintance at last," Bellatrix said to the witch in the office of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Nora Clarke, the Department head, had spent the entire meeting doe-eyed with wonder by both Voldemort and Bellatrix. It had been like pulling teeth to actually have a substantive conversation about the Obliviator squads and fixing explosive underage magic.

"Oh, My Lady. What a beautiful honour it was to meet you, as well," said the Irish witch. She flew from her chair and bowed a bit awkwardly. "My Lord. Thank you so much for coming to see us here. I promise we'll continue working very hard for you."

"I've no doubt whatsoever about that," Voldemort said primly. He turned his face to Bellatrix and said, "My Lady, have you got the invitation?"

"Of course." Bellatrix had been rather amazed today, for he'd continuously called her My Lady. He usually called her by her first name in front of others, but he hadn't done it even once today. Bellatrix reached into her leather folio and pulled out a beautiful foil-stamped invitation, which she handed over to Nora Clarke. Bellatrix smiled and said, "It's two months away, we know, but the Dark Lord would like all Department Heads present, if you please."

Nora Clarke breathed in awe as she read the invitation. "A grand ball to commemorate the first day of Lord Vo… of the Dark Lord's reign. At Malfoy Manor. My goodness. Yes, of course I shall be there. Thank you."

"Until then. Keep up the fine work, Madam Clarke." Voldemort nodded politely, and Bellatrix followed him out of the office. They made their way to the third level bank of lifts, and once they were inside, he asked tightly, "That was the last one, yes?"

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix glanced down at her wrist, to the sparkling bracelet he'd put there that morning. He saw here examining it, and he asked a bit nervously,

"You do like it?"

She raised her eyes to his and nodded. "Very much. Thank you for allowing me to come to the meetings, My Lord."

He frowned. "Allowing you? It's important that you're at my side for things such as this if the people are to see you as their… as their…"

"Their lady," Bellatrix nodded. He'd been thinking queen, she could tell, but the term didn't transfer into the Magical world correctly. The lift door slid open, and Bellatrix pulled further back into the bank of lifts, thinking they would Disapparate back to Archer's Edge.

"We're not going home," Voldemort informed her, and Bellatrix furrowed her brow in confusion.

"No? Where are we going?"

Voldemort smirked and wrapped his hand around her wrist, the one with the bracelet on it. "You'll see," he said, and he Disapparated at once, taking Bellatrix with him.

* * *

 **St Mungo's Hospital, London**

 **14 February 1972**

"My Lord?" Bellatrix asked with unease once they came to. She glanced around the quiet reception area. "Why are we here?"

The witch at the Inquiries desk kept her face down, her cheeks going pink, and Bellatrix realised they'd been expecting Lord Voldemort. He said nothing in answer to Bellatrix's question. Instead, he walked straight up to the Inquiries desk, and the young witch there stammered,

"M-may I help you, My Lord?"

"Healer Harvey," he said simply, and the witch nodded. "He's waiting for you on the sixth floor, My Lord."

Sixth floor. Bellatrix frowned deeply. She'd been here before, both to visit relatives and because once when she'd been a little girl, she'd wound up accidentally shattering glass and winding up with it stuck in her face. But as far as Bellatrix knew, there was no sixth floor of St Mungo's Hospital. The top level, the fifth floor, was the visitors' tearoom and gift shop. Just the same, she followed Voldemort over to the solitary lift, and when they got inside, she noticed there was no button for the sixth floor. The buttons only went up to five.

"How are we meant to go a sixth floor that doesn't exist?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort still said nothing, and Bellatrix was shocked when the lift began to move, almost as though it was subject to the whims of his mind. It may as well be, she thought; just about everyone and everything was subject to the whims of Voldemort's mind.

"The hospital has been expanded many times," Voldemort said simply as the lift moved. "This isn't the first time a new ward's been created."

"New ward," Bellatrix repeated. Then the lift door opened, and she stepped out as her mouth fell open. This ward was shiny and new. Everything was white and metal and black, crisp and modern and aggressively sterile.

"My Lord. Madam Black," said a voice, and Bellatrix turned to see Healer Harvey standing in the centre of the main space. He'd been the one to save her when her magic had been drained from her body. He'd been the one to perform the ill-advised sterilization surgery that Voldemort and Bellatrix had reversed. Voldemort trusted this man. Bellatrix could feel that in her bones. Indeed, he walked straight up to Healer Harvey and shook the other man's hand. It was an act he rarely performed, even with his closest allies.

"Healer Harvey, will you be so good as to show my wife the admittedly unconventional Valentine's Day gift I've had made for her?"

Healer Harvey smiled warmly. "Of course. My Lady, if you will follow me this way."

 _What is this?_ Bellatrix thought frantically. _What have you done? This doesn't feel like a Valentine's Day gift._

 _It will,_ Voldemort thought back firmly. Bellatrix couldn't answer him then, for she'd been led into a homey-looking space, a modern-style bedroom that happened to be filled with all manner of Magical medical supplies. There were shelves full of instruments. There was a glass intravenous drip. There was a massive Potions store cupboard and another filled with bandages and little scissors and everything else. Finally Bellatrix understood.

"You've lowered that fifty percent," she whispered, and when she turned her face to her husband, he nodded.

"It just took a bit of research," he said. "Infant mortality rates used to be much higher in general; nobody put much thought into why. Healer Harvey and I believe that with daily infusions of my Magical Capacity into your body toward the end of the pregnancy, all three of us would be fine."

"Infusions of Magical Capacity?" Bellatrix repeated. She shook her head. "How… that isn't possible, is it?"

"Not usually, My Lady," Healer Harvey admitted, "but the Dark Lord and I have discussed the matter, and we believe that, owing to the unique connection the two of you share, transferring Magical Capacity will be possible with the right spells and potions involved."

Bellatrix stared at Voldemort, wide-eyed with shock. He'd told Healer Harvey about their mental link. He must have really wanted an answer to all this, she thought.

Desperately, she felt him think, and suddenly she found herself thinking that the creation of a medical ward was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done.

"You would stay here, in the hospital, for the last few months," Voldemort said carefully, "so that you and the… the… baby… could be monitored for any signs of distress. Healer Harvey and I also believe that a great many of those recorded stillbirths were in pregnancies that were not carefully monitored. Any issue that arose would be aggressively and immediately addressed. That, combined with the infusions of my magic into you…" He paused, glancing over to Healer Harvey as he said quietly, "May we have a moment?"

"Of course, Master. I'll be out by the lift." Healer Harvey bowed, first to Voldemort and then to Bellatrix, and as he walked away, Voldemort cupped Bellatrix's face in his hands.

"I would not allow you to birth and hold a dead child," he said firmly.

"You did all this in just a few days," Bellatrix whispered, shaking her head in confusion. "How did I not see it in your mind?"

Voldemort put his lips into a line and said, "I confess that I have found great use for a Time-Turner these last several days. I very rarely like using them; I think they're dangerous and open all manner of doors that should be left shut. But I've been using one, and I admit I've kept my mind more blocked off to you than usual. This was something that I thought was very important to address quickly, Bellatrix. I hope you are not angry with my presumption."

"Presumption." She shook her head again, a single tear tumbling from her eye. She studied Voldemort's eyes and asked quietly, "You really think it's safe?"

"It certainly isn't stupid anymore," he told her, brushing his thumbs under her eyes. "You just tell me when you're ready, little thing. This month. Next year. Five years, ten years from now. It doesn't matter when, or even if. This hospital ward will be here waiting for you if ever you decide you need it. It has been built for you and you alone."

Bellatrix's head spun, and as she stared up at Voldemort's face, she thought that no woman had ever loved a man as much as she loved her master. He was vicious and terrible. He could be heartless and cruel. He could take orgasmic pleasure in the agony of others. But he was also the man who had taught her to fly, kissing her mid air and sweeping her away from a fall. He was the one who had taught her to be a warrior, the one who had made a spy of her, the one who had given her chances to hone her diplomacy. He had married her, loved her, doted on her and argued with her. He'd kissed her in the rain, in the snow, on a beach in Spain and in her parents' library. He was the Dark Lord. He was Lord Voldemort. He was her husband.

And he would father her child, sooner rather than later.

Bellatrix was dizzy through his kiss, wishing more than anything that they could just go home and make love in their bed until they were sweaty and tired.

Don't worry, she felt him think. That part's next.

"Happy Valentine's Day, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered against his lips at last, and he nodded and said seriously,

"Happy Valentine's Day, Bella."

* * *

 **Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **21 February 1972**

"You're nervous tonight," Voldemort noted, and Bellatrix nodded beneath him. Neither of them had to say any more than that. She'd started bleeding two weeks earlier. If he finished inside of her tonight, there was a very good chance she'd wind up pregnant. He could sense the fear and the unease rolling off of her in waves. In her mind, he could clearly see her, heavy with child, frustrated by her inability to go charging into battle with everyone else. Voldemort petted her hair and kissed her forehead as he reminded her, "There aren't many battles these days, little thing."

"What if it hated me?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort had to keep himself from laughing as he informed her,

"Children very rarely hate their mothers, I think."

Bellatrix was obviously thinking of her own mother then as she sighed, "I'm not sure about that, My Lord."

"Your child would not hate you," Voldemort said gently, "because you would be the most adventurous mother on the planet. You would have your little creature toddling behind you, mimicking the motions of your wand and the sound of your voice. You'd teach the child to fly, to speak like a diplomat and fight like a soldier. You would create something in your own image, which would be at once terrifying and beautiful for the rest of us to behold."

Bellatrix's eyes welled as she whispered, "But what if it died?"

Voldemort sighed. "Then we would mourn and be heartbroken for a little while. But you tell me to do it right now, Bella, and I'll climb right off of you."

She hesitated. He knew she wanted to tell him it was fine, to go ahead and make love to her, but her hesitation went on long enough that Voldemort acted for himself. He slid out of her body, still achingly hard, and lay on his back beside her. She reached her hand beneath the blankets and started pumping his length. Voldemort shut his eyes and murmured,

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to," she whispered. Voldemort pushed the blankets back and felt his breath shake madly as her hand quickened. Her touch still felt more than a little good, despite the heavy conversation. She let her fingers fly up around his tip, and Voldemort felt his chest heaving as his fingers cinched around the sheets. Bellatrix hovered just over him, her curls tickling his skin as she bent to kiss him. He groaned into her mouth as he came all over his stomach. She could feel the tightening and then the burst of his climax, he knew, and she moaned right back against his lips.

His fingers trembled as he reached for his wand, and he aimed it at his skin and nonverbally cleaned up the mess. He set his wand back down and stared at the ceiling as Bellatrix curled up against him.

"You know," he said, "there is a solution. If you want it. Muggles aren't good for much, but… they have a product called a condom. It's a physical prophylactic; it's a sort of barrier made of latex that fits snugly around… a man."

Bellatrix frowned up at him. "And that keeps a woman from getting pregnant?"

"Well, yes." Voldemort felt oddly embarrassed then as he said, "The man's seed collects inside the condom itself, and you simply dispose of it. It's quite simply, really, but admittedly ingenious."

Bellatrix blinked a few times and asked, "And would you have any means of procuring one of these condoms?"

Voldemort smirked. "You'd want more than one; they're disposable. I'd have to go to a Muggle druggist, and I'd want to disguise myself for that just in case. But, yes, Bella. I can get some. That way your fertility isn't endangered, but you can take as long as you like to decide one way or the other."

He felt relief course through her veins as she nodded vigorously. She brushed her knuckles over his chest and murmured,

"What if it's already done, though?"

"What if what's already done?" Voldemort asked. Bellatrix raised her gaze to him again and reminded him,

"You finished inside of me three days ago, and the day before that, and the day before that. What if the timing isn't all neat now that there's been such powerful intervention?"

Voldemort tipped his head. "Wait a few weeks and see if you bleed. If you don't, we'll test you again. In the meantime, just in case, don't go drinking any firewhisky, eh?"

Bellatrix's breath hitched a little. Voldemort shut his eyes and sent some thoughts straight into her mind. He imagined her reading a book to a toddling little girl who just wouldn't sit still. He imagined himself with a little boy on his shoulders, holding Bellatrix's hand as they took a walk on the moor outside the castle. He imagined the both them, hands clenched on Platform 9 ¾ as they sent their child off to Hogwarts.

Then even his own domestic fantasies began to fall apart, for there were some complications. Bellatrix would always look like this. She would always look right around seventeen. What would happen when when their child outgrew her in appearance? What would happen when Lord Voldemort - a wizard for whom there was no extant age-freezing process - inexorably became a truly old man? What would happen when their child, who would have no Horcruxes, inevitably died?

Voldemort squeezed his eyes shut and realised that none of this had been properly thought through. Perhaps Bellatrix had been very right in getting the surgery initially. All of a sudden, it seemed utterly ridiculous that the Dark Lord and his vicious lady would spend years and years in domestic bliss with a child. It seemed ludicrous that either of them would sacrifice their goals or their tactics or their immortality for the sake of a mewling baby.

Voldemort realised that he'd let love get the better of him at last. Loving Bellatrix had proven to be far more helpful than harmful these last few years, but this was taking it all too far. He wasn't the lonely boy in the orphanage anymore; he was feared and worshipped for his Darkness. He could love Bellatrix, but that was it. Anything beyond that was not only a logistical impossibility, but a danger.

Voldemort flew from the bed, suddenly overcome with anger. He was furious with himself for not thinking any of this to its conclusion. He snatched at his wand and sent the clock on the wall crashing to the ground. He shattered the mirror in the bathroom and toppled over the wardrobe. Bellatrix winced and said from the bed,

"Please stop."

"What damned bloody fools we both are," Voldemort snarled, quickly flicking his wand at the wardrobe to make it repair itself. He glared at Bellatrix and shrugged. "Under what delusion, exactly, were the two of us labouring, Bellatrix? We are immortal. We have Horcruxes."

"That doesn't mean we'd ever have to use them," Bellatrix noted. Her cheeks went red, and she added, "They could be destroyed."

"No." Voldemort shook his head. "No. You know I'll wind up using potions and spells to keep myself from ever looking ninety years old, or two hundred and ninety years old. And you… you. You'll look like that forever. Like a pretty little thing right on the cusp of womanhood, hmm? But what about a baby, Bella? Babies become children, and children become adults, and adults grow old, and then they die. What the blazes were we thinking, that people like us could… you were right. You were right to get the surgery, to know that the lives we lead are not conducive to parenthood. You were right. And the little dreams I had of you in a rocking chair with a child? They were stupid dreams, Bellatrix. Ill-advised, to say the least. Stand up."

Bellatrix hesitated, pulling the sheets closer around her body. Voldemort snarled and grabbed at her wrist, yanking her out of the bed. She stood naked and nervous before him, and he aimed his wand at her abdomen, shutting his eyes and feeling as though he might faint.

"Whatever you're about to do, My Lord, please do not do it," Bellatrix begged him, but he opened his eyes and said very firmly,

 _"Matricis Evanesco."_

Bellatrix yelped and clutched at her abdomen, falling to her knees and sobbing as she realised what he'd done. He'd vanished her womb into non-being. There was no undoing this. There was no spell, no potion, no insane Dark magic that could ever bring that organ back. She would never bleed again. She would never bear a child.

"What have you done?" Bellatrix wailed, glaring up at him and shaking her head wildly. "I had surgery for this! You were the one who convinced me… who… it was you who wanted a child!"

"Yes, well. I didn't think that through properly," Voldemort said tightly. Bellatrix shrugged, her mouth hanging open in speechless disbelief. She knew what this meant. They'd killed that Muggle woman in Spain for nothing. She'd be locked eternally in this appearance for nothing. He'd created that hospital wing for nothing. And even if someday he came up with an ingenious plan to keep their child with them forever, it was too late now. There was no crafting a new, functional uterus. There was no bringing back the one he'd just Vanished. He had just taken from her, rather by force, the last physical possibility of her bearing her own child.

"What a monster you are," Bellatrix mumbled from where she knelt. Rage flared up inside Voldemort then, and he grabbed her hair and yanked it back so that she was staring defiantly at him. She shrugged. "Go on. Hit me. Kick me. Send me flying against the wall. I let them cut me up inside for you; I let you perform the Darkest magic on me because I thought it was what you wanted. And with one little spell, you've decided my fate for me. But that's what you do, isn't it? You decide people's fates for them."

"You were right," Voldemort said through clenched teeth. "Since the day we were married, you'd insisted that you never wanted a child, and you were right."

"How very convenient that you can lean on that now," Bellatrix nodded. "Since you got to change your mind about it so often. But it's done now; you've mutilated me far more than any trained surgeon could ever do. You know that a solution could have been found. Or that we could have taken ten years to decide never to have a child at all. But you're so bloody impulsive that you couldn't - aaagh!"

Voldemort had tightened his grip on her hair, and he seethed, "I am Lord Voldemort, and my decisions are final."

"Including ones about my internal organs," Bellatrix nodded. "Yes, I understand exactly how it is now. Please, will you let me stand up? I'd like to go spend the night at my parents' house."

"No, you are not going to go run off to your mother," Voldemort snarled. He released her hair and took a step back. "You are not about to go prancing off screeching about the marital woes of the Dark Lord."

"Of course you're right," Bellatrix said bitterly. "We wouldn't want anyone thinking you were human."

She met his eyes, and he couldn't tell which of their gazes was colder or harder. Voldemort stalked to the wardrobe that he'd demolished and then fixed. He opened it and snatched out a pair of pyjamas, yanking them on as he informed Bellatrix,

"I shall stay in the second bedroom tonight and as many nights as you desire your solitude."

"I don't desire solitude, My Lord," Bellatrix said in a choked voice. "I just wish you had never, ever put the idea in my mind that you wanted me to be a mother."

Voldemort paused in the doorway, his chest pulling and his eyes burning as he let out a shaking sigh. He faced away from her as he said again,

"You were right, Bellatrix. Our lives are entirely too complicated and abnormal to introduce another human into them. My fantasies were born of the most fundamental human weakness - love. My love for you is a strength, but… I was blinded by my own humanity into thinking it was wise or even possible for you to be a mother. It's all well and good to imagine you in a rocking chair, Bella. Not so good to picture you, looking seventeen, burying your eighty-year-old son."

Bellatrix let out a little sob from behind him and moaned, "You don't know that it would have had to be like that. You don't know. Look at how many other workarounds you've created in your life. The rules don't apply to you; you've said so yourself."

Voldemort shook his head and murmured over his shoulder, "You were right to want the surgery in the first place, Bellatrix. Perhaps it was slightly impulsive for me to Vanish your womb. But there was entirely too much deliberation happening on the matter. This is not something that can be reversed. There is no Croatian crone's Dark magic for this. There is no transplant. No infusion. It's done now. It's over."

Bellatrix nodded at him, swiping tears from her eyes. "I know it is."

"Get some sleep," Voldemort told her, though he knew neither of them would. He walked across the landing at the top of the stairs into the other bedroom on this level, a smaller space of black wood and red silk. He pulled back the covers on the rarely-used bed and slithered into the sheets, folding his hands over his stomach and staring at the ceiling.

It had been a beautiful delusion, he thought - the idea of Bellatrix humming a lullaby to a child. Perhaps someday a hundred years from now, some opportunity would arise for them to adopt a little baby of note. Perhaps they'd want to do so then, or perhaps not. He hadn't shut the door on parenthood entirely, he reasoned. He'd only closed off the biological option. He'd said it before; Lord Voldemort needed no heir. And that was true. It was also true that he had no working method right now to prevent a child Bellatrix bore from ageing and dying and leaving both of them utterly bereft. He wasn't about to go encouraging his child to make a Horcrux, and the fact that he was unwilling to encourage the use of such Dark magic in any potential offspring told him he shouldn't have offspring at all.

They would live forever, but they would have to do it alone. Everyone around them would die. Abraxas Malfoy, and then Lucius Malfoy, and then whatever child Lucius inevitably made with Bellatrix's sister Narcissa. All of them would die. All except for Voldemort and Bellatrix, who would live forever alone.

"My Lord?"

He turned his head to the doorway to see Bellatrix standing there in a nightgown and black satin robe. She stepped into the spare bedroom, and when he saw her face, Voldemort said the words he reserved almost exclusively for her.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I," Bellatrix nodded. "I let far too much emotion leech into all of this."

"I'm not sure how one is meant to keep emotion out of the consideration of having a child," Voldemort admitted. "If you ever want one, Bella, there's literally all the time in the world for it. I grew up in an orphanage. Nobody wanted me, but I watched an endless parade of well-mannered little children be marched out by smiling, barren couples who had at last found their child."

Bellatrix smirked. "So you're saying that thirty years from now, we'll walk into an orphanage and walk out with a family?"

"We are a family," Voldemort informed her crisply. "You and I are a family. But if, thirty or sixty or three or a hundred years from now, you decide you want to be a mother, you don't need a womb for that. Please, Bella… know how fiercely I love you. It was my fault to be impulsive through all of this, not just what happened tonight. I was a fool to do what I did in Spain. I was a fool to let on before then that I had fantasies of you as a mother. Because I know damn well who you are - soldier and diplomat and consort and wife - and I know that the circumstances of our mortality would only lead to intense heartbreak. Once upon a time, Bellatrix, I did not think the heart in my chest could even be broken. But you'd shatter it into a thousand pieces with your grief, and I can not allow that for either of us."

She nodded and tucked her curls behind her ear. "I understand, My Lord. Do you think… do you suppose I'll ever age now?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "No. Probably not. When I get old enough that you're entirely repulsed, I'll go back to using Surripiotempus Potion on a permanent basis."

"That isn't why I asked," Bellatrix said, smiling a bit sadly. She sank onto the bed near Voldemort's feet and mused quietly,

"How will you know when you've gone too far? When you've used too much magic to keep yourself alive and make yourself more powerful?"

"There's no such thing as too far," Voldemort said rather sternly. "You've said it yourself. You knew what I was when you married me."

"I did know. And I know now, too," Bellatrix said. She reached for his hand and squeezed gently. "Please come back to our bed. I don't want to sleep without you."

* * *

 **Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **17 April 1972**

"My goodness. Don't you look handsome?" Bellatrix came walking out of the bathroom in nothing but a short black robe, and she smiled at Voldemort, who stood looking resplendent in his tuxedo robes. She moved to stand beside him in front of the full-length mirror, leaning her head against his shoulder. She'd already done her hair, straightening it and weaving it into a basket-style design at the back of her head. She'd put on the silver tiara that Voldemort had had made for her. She wore her serpent necklace, and her heavy eyeliner and red lipstick were already on.

"You don't have to pretend, you know," Voldemort told her, and Bellatrix frowned in confusion.

"What do you mean, My Lord?"

He tipped his head as they stared at one another in the mirror. He sighed and shrugged. "I know perfectly well how old I am. How old I look next to you."

Bellatrix scowled. "You're not old. Forty-five is not old."

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "I've been keeping my head shaved because my hairline had receded straight up my scalp and the hair left was almost entirely grey. I'm old. It's fine. You don't have to pretend I'm young and handsome."

Bellatrix felt a little offended then, and she said, "If I make a confession, perhaps it will alleviate your anxiety about this."

"What confession?" Voldemort demanded. Bellatrix felt her cheeks go warm beneath her powder and rouge, and she said sheepishly,

"I've always… you know, had rather a thing for older men."

Voldemort cocked an eyebrow up and laughed a little, turning away from the mirror to face her. "A thing. What does that mean?

Bellatrix wrapped her arms around herself protectively. "I never found myself attracted to young men. Not viscerally. When I was younger, I only ever had crushes on much, much older men."

"When you were younger," Voldemort repeated, narrowing his eyes. "So, just a few years ago, then. Who were these men?"

"No." Bellatrix shook her head and giggled softly. "No, I'm not going to tell you."

Voldemort tipped her chin up with his finger and informed her, "I could Imperius you into telling me, but I'd much rather you did it of your own volition."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "My father's friends. It doesn't matter now. You know all of them. I only wanted them because they were older."

Voldemort laughed uproariously at that, and Bellatrix couldn't help grinning at the sight of his mirth. He dragged his hand over his shaved head and asked playfully,

"So you like the wrinkles, then, do you?"

"Mmm-hmm." Bellatrix adjusted his bow tie and informed him, "I'm going to go put my dress on. We should leave very soon. How's the makeup and hair look?"

"Divine," Voldemort answered. He started working on his cufflinks as Bellatrix made her way into her dressing boudoir. She peeled off her satin robe and slithered into her flesh-toned undergarments. Then she pulled her gown off the hanger and stepped into it.

This gown had been the creation of four witches at Twillfit and Tattings, who had worked for many hours to create the work of art. Bellatrix adjusted the sleeves and then studied herself in the boudoir's full-length mirror. She had to admit she looked rather good. The gown was shining white silk that fit her form like a glove, with long sleeves and a draped neckline. There was a thick silver belt around the middle that fit almost like a corset, giving the impression of armour. More armoured silver laced around the shoulders and down to a point on Bellatrix's biceps. She studied herself, the gown and the hair and the crown, and she thought that she did look a bit like royalty. Bellatrix sighed nervously as she slid on her silver high heels, and she strode with feigned confidence back into the bedroom.

Voldemort turned at the sound of her footsteps, and he actually dropped his wand. Bellatrix tried not to laugh as he quickly bent and picked it up. He stared at her for a very long moment with shock and wonder and attraction throbbing from his mind. Bellatrix dragged her thumb over the diamond, onyx, and emerald bracelet on her wrist and asked carefully,

"What do you think?"

"You're in white," he said simply, and Bellatrix smiled and nodded.

"The wedding dress I never had, perhaps."

"You look… like a dream," Voldemort nodded. "You look like the most beautiful witch in all the world."

Bellatrix blinked quickly and scolded him, "Stop that kind of talk, or else I'll have mascara running down my cheeks. We should go, shouldn't we?"

He nodded and stepped up to her, his breath quicker than she would have expected as he threaded his fingers through hers and Disapparated. When they landed, they were in his office at Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix glanced around and asked,

"Why didn't we come in the front doors?"

"I don't want to be announced by a House-Elf," Voldemort said simply. He straightened his jacket and tie and asked her, "Anything out of place?"

"No. You look very handsome." Bellatrix took his hand and let him lead her from his office and down the corridor. There was already a hum of activity and the sound of a small orchestra in the ballroom, and as they neared the open doors, Bellatrix could see Abraxas Malfoy standing there waiting for them. Malfoy quirked up his lips and bowed.

"Good evening, My Lord. My Lady."

"Thank you for hosting this little party, Minister," Bellatrix said warmly. She couldn't help but notice the way Malfoy's eyes flicked up and down her form, and she wondered if her column dress fit too snugly.

It looks fine. More than fine, Voldemort thought firmly at her. Malfoy certainly thinks so.

She didn't sense any hostility from him. If anything, he seemed proud that his wife was so dizzyingly beautiful tonight. Bellatrix followed Voldemort and Malfoy into the ballroom, and all of a sudden everything fizzled into silence.

"Give due regard to our munificent Dark Lord and Lady," Malfoy said. Bellatrix frowned a little; usually she was introduced as Madam Blackalongside Voldemort. But her husband hardly seemed aggrieved as the ballroom broke out into wild applause. His hand tightened on hers, and once silence fell again, he said in a confident voice,

"My friends… today we have gathered to celebrate the anniversary of wizarding Britain's great rebirth. A year ago, my Lady and I eliminated my most poisonous enemy, Albus Dumbledore."

A low hiss and a few sounds of disgust wormed their way through the ballroom. Voldemort held his hand up for quiet and continued,

"Since that day, we have reclaimed our community. We have established a Ministry that works for the good of actual witches and wizards. I am proud and happy to see the Ministry so well represented tonight, helmed by our illustrious host and the Minister of Magic himself, Abraxas Malfoy."

Voldemort waited for more applause to ripple through the space. Once it died down, he nodded his thanks to Malfoy once more and continued to the crowd,

"We have not come here to celebrate the anniversary of a death, but to commemorate the day that dawn broke over wizarding Britain. I am honoured and privileged to be your lord and master. The loyalty of every soul in attendance tonight is marked and appreciated and will not be forgotten. You, my friends, have been instrumental in shaping our country's bright new future. I will continue to rely on you going forward. I know that next year, our celebration will be even more joyous, and so will each subsequent passing year. I ask you to raise your wands now for a salute."

He released Bellatrix's hand, and she pulled her own wand from the Expanded silver clutch she'd brought with her. She illuminated it and held it up along with everyone else. Voldemort smirked and said,

"I stand in grateful receipt of all your devotion and servitude. I pledge to you a greater tomorrow. We stand united."

More applause broke out then as everyone lowered and snuffed out their wands. Bellatrix tucked hers away again, and as everyone resumed their low conversations, she murmured to Voldemort,

"I'll go visit with my parents so you can make rounds."

"Don't tarry too long; I'd like you to speak to as many people as you can," Voldemort said firmly. Bellatrix nodded and smiled a bit at him, and she could feel his eyes on her as she walked away. She could feel the eyes of countless others, too. Jealous witches and lustful wizards alike stared at her as she made her way across the ballroom. Narcissa stood with Lucius Malfoy, speaking to Bellatrix's parents. As she approached, Druella Black's cheeks went pink, and Bellatrix was shocked to see her and Narcissa curtsy.

"You don't have to do that," Bellatrix said rather uncomfortably, but Druella was wide-eyed and almost fearful as she said softly,

"I think it's better that we do. You look absolutely splendid, Bellatrix."

"Thank you," Bellatrix muttered. Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat quietly, and Bellatrix watched as he bowed deeply and said,

"My Lady, it is an honour beyond measure to be celebrating this joyous anniversary."

"Indeed it is." Bellatrix felt like she didn't know any of these people. Even her own father seemed frightened of her, so she gave him a warm look and asked, "Father, will you please dance with your eldest daughter? Just once."

"Oh. Erm… yes, of course," Cygnus said. He held his arm out, and Bellatrix took it as she said to the others,

"Enjoy yourselves. It is a party, after all."

She let her father lead her to the dance floor, feeling more stares and hearing or imagining all kinds of whispers. She sighed deeply as she and her father fell into a lazy two-step.

"Do you remember, Father, when I was about six or seven, we came to the Christmas party here and you let me stand on your shoes whilst we danced?"

"I remember," Cygnus nodded, his dark eyes going a bit wet. "He was here that night, you know."

Bellatrix frowned. "The Dark Lord?"

"Yes. You wouldn't have been paying much attention to him then, probably."

"No, I suppose not," Bellatrix admitted. She glanced over to where he was standing, surrounded by an eager hive of Ministry employees. She laughed a little and murmured, "Oh, the poor man. They all want a piece of him. Or at least a piece of his attention."

"Bellatrix."

She turned her face back to her father, and he sounded a bit concerned as he said,

"Please just reassure me that you are safe and happy."

Bellatrix couldn't promise him anything on the safe front, but she nodded and assured him, "I think I must be the happiest witch who ever lived, Father."

"Good. That's all I ever wanted for any of you girls."

Any. Not both, but any. He was thinking of Andromeda, Bellatrix thought. And, of course, what he'd said wasn't true. If Cygnus Black III had really just wanted his middle daughter happy, he would have encouraged her to run off with Ted Tonks and would have maintained contact. Instead, he'd cut her off entirely, and now Andromeda was dead, killed by Bellatrix's own wand. Her steps faltered a little, and Cygnus seemed to know they were both thinking of the same person.

Mercifully, a handsome figure strode up just as the two-step ended. Lord Voldemort approached just as the orchestra stopped playing and everyone began to applaud. Cygnus bowed deeply, and Voldemort asked in an uncharacteristically gentle tone,

"Cygnus, might I steal a dance with your daughter?"

"She's all yours, My Lord," Cygnus said, and Bellatrix realised just how very true that was. Cygnus gave his daughter a loving look and nodded. "Enjoy the evening, dear."

Voldemort swept Bellatrix into a more elegant dancing stance as the orchestra began a slow waltz. His gaze was intense as he told her,

"I had to get away from all those idiots."

Bellatrix laughed and reminded him, "Those idiots comprise your Ministry."

"I know. It's unnerving," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix laughed again. But then his face looked hungry, and she could feel the want radiating off of him.

"You sounded magnificent," she whispered, and he nodded his thanks. Bellatrix tightened her grip on his shoulder and said, "Everyone in this room is in complete awe of you. Most especially me."

Voldemort gulped. "Bella, I want… I want to go to my office. Just for a quick -"

"No, My Lord," Bellatrix interrupted in a soothing voice. She dragged her thumb over his and chided him, "You know it wouldn't be once quickly on your desk. You know what's happened on nights like this. Take it out on me later."

"I find myself in rather desperate need of it right now," Voldemort admitted, and Bellatrix flicked her eyes down to see a bulge in his tuxedo trousers. His cheeks went red and he looked flustered and embarrassed. Bellatrix knew he was high on the feeling of being adored, drunk on the affirmation of his power, aroused by his wife. She shut her eyes and silently incanted,

Delenio.

She could feel Voldemort's heart and breathing slow a little, and when she opened her eyes and looked at his trousers again, there was no obvious erection. He nodded and mumbled,

"Thank you."

Bellatrix stared up at him as they danced, and with every passing note, she became more lost to him. The feel of his hands on her, the sight of his mouth and his nose and his eyes, of his elegant tuxedo. The smell of steel and something elegantly masculine. The thudding sense of need that he still felt looking back at her. It was all too much, and she didn't even notice when the song ended. Finally she found herself standing there whilst everyone else applauded the orchestra, and still she was staring up at her husband like an infatuated child.

"Tell me you've charmed your lipstick not to rub off," Voldemort murmured, and Bellatrix's pulse quickened as she nodded. He took her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers, planting a solid kiss on her lips. It lingered just long enough for everyone to see, and Bellatrix's mind whirled with the idea that he'd wanted the people to watch them be intimate like this. She started to pull away, but he held his mouth against hers another moment, his fingers curled just so around her cheeks. Bellatrix's own hands went flat against his tuxedo shirt, and finally he pulled back. The ballroom was quiet but not silent, though Bellatrix knew every single person in the room had witnessed the kiss. She quirked up half her mouth and whispered up to Voldemort,

"Why did you do that?"

Voldemort winked at her, which made her shiver, and he shrugged. "Why not? Let's go say hello to the head of the Floo Network Authority, shall we?"

* * *

 _Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

 _20 April 1972_

"Where are they?" Voldemort demanded, storming into the dining room at Malfoy Manor without any semblance of greeting. Bellatrix had received an owl this morning from Malabit Rowle indicating that some scattered half-blood, blood traitor, and Mudblood 'anarchists' had been located. Voldemort had Summoned Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, Yaxley, Avery, Nott, Goyle, Hadley Carrow and her cousin Patricia, Lorcan Crabbe, and Antonin Dolohov to Malfoy Manor in response. All of his best fighters. Now he sank into the seat at the head of the table as everyone scrambled to sit back down, and he asked again, "Where are they?"

"My Lord, the intelligence we have indicates that the anarchists are living in small groups, no larger than five, and some of them are solitary. They're attempting to live 'off the map,' to continue practising magic or blending into Muggle life without the authority of the Ministry of Magic. One was captured yesterday, and before his execution, he stated that he no longer recognised the legitimacy of the Ministry as his government and would no longer live as part of Britain's wizarding community."

A low rumble of disbelieving laughter went around the table, and Bellatrix crossed her arms over her chest beside Voldemort as he barked,

"That was not a choice afforded him. No one will practise magic in this country without my permission. No one. Not a single Mudblood. Not a single family of blood traitors. There will be no spells cast from disobedient wands. We will crush them, and we will do it now, before their supposed disdain for authority turns into active rebellion."

The others looked energised by Voldemort's determination. Bellatrix turned to Malfoy and asked,

"Minister, have you got locations on all of them?"

"All the ones we know about, My Lady," nodded Abraxas. "Seven locations in total."

Bellatrix's eyes started scanning around the table, and Voldemort knew she was thinking the same thing he was. A simultaneous strike would be needed in case any of the anarchists were in communication with one another. He glanced at those he'd assembled and said crisply,

"Right. We'll all go in pairs. Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy. Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange. Crabbe and Dolohov. Hadley and Patricia Carrow. Nott and Goyle. Yaxley and Avery. And I'll go with the Lady."

Malfoy nodded and rose, walking to Voldemort's chair. He bowed and handed over a stack of parchments.

"These are the known clusters, My Lord," Malfoy said quietly. "There is one group of five; the others are singles, pairs, or trios."

Voldemort waved Malfoy off and looked over the intelligence. He thought straight toward his wife,

Bella, come hand the papers out to the class, won't you?

She rose, and he pulled out the parchment that described the hiding-place of a lone old Mudblood wizard in Wales. Voldemort held the paper up and murmured to Bellatrix,

"The Carrows."

She walked around the table and handed the parchment to Hadley Carrow, and when she came back, he gave her the intelligence briefing on a married couple - a Mudblood and a half-blood in East Anglia.

"Nott and Goyle," he said. He assigned Crabbe and Dolohov to another married couple hiding with their four-year-old daughter in Glasgow. He gave the Lestrange brothers a very angry-sounding Mudblood witch who had once been an Auror. Yaxley and Avery were given a married couple of blood-traitors and the husband's aged mother. The Malfoys were given a straggling pair of Prewetts, and then he came to the parchment he'd saved for last. When Bellatrix returned, he handed it to her and jerked his head toward her chair.

She read over it, her eyes registering that they were to eliminate Molly and Arthur Weasley, their young son, Arthur's brother Bilius, and the patriarch Septimus Weasley. Arthur and Molly had never been full-blown members of the Order of the Phoenix, but they'd shown more than enough enmity when Bellatrix had spied on them at Hogwarts. Now, it seemed, they were hiding in a dingy flat in Birmingham.

"Meet with your partner to strategise briefly," Voldemort said. "Go to the location we have and eliminate your targets. Be careful with collateral damage; use Obliviation liberally if necessary. No captured enemies; I have no need of information from these people. I want them all dead. Come back here as soon as you've finished. Anyone who has not returned by sundown will be presumed lost. Are there any questions?"

Everyone looked a bit apprehensive, but no one spoke. Voldemort sniffed lightly and nodded.

"Serve me well, all of you." He turned his face to Bellatrix and thought, My office.

She followed him when he rose, and everyone else flew to their feet to give them respect as they left the room. Voldemort strode quickly down the corridor and flung the door to his office open with wandless magic. Bellatrix shut it more gently behind them, and she hesitated.

"What's wrong?" Voldemort snapped. Bellatrix said carefully,

"Their son is less than two years old."

"Yes? And?" Voldemort snarled. Bellatrix put her hands on her hips.

"Step one is going to be separating the adults from the child. They'll do anything and everything to protect him."

"Their anything and everything is significantly less impressive than what we've got, Bella," Voldemort reminded her. She put her lips into a line and suggested,

"I'll go straight for the baby. Molly will go for him, too. I'll take her out, then the little boy. That will leave you with Arthur, Bilius, and Septimus."

Voldemort squared his jaw but finally nodded. "Find the child first."

"May I see the address again?" Bellatrix asked, and he handed her the parchment.

"We'll do Side-Along to make sure we end up in the same spot," Voldemort said. "I'm aiming for the corridor outside the unit itself."

Bellatrix nodded and straightened her tunic. She was in battle attire today; she'd donned leggings and tall boots and a flowing knee-length tunic bound by a fierce-looking leather bustier. She'd tied her curls up at the nape of her neck, and she looked beautiful in her determination.

"Ready?" she asked, and Voldemort smirked.

"You've missed this. Real battle."

"Perhaps I have," she admitted with a shrug. "Shall we go?"

* * *

 **Birmingham**

 **20 April 1972**

"It's disgusting," Bellatrix muttered as they walked down the stained carpet in the tower flat's corridor. Voldemort could hear a Muggle couple bickering inside one unit, and suddenly there was the unmistakable crash of a dish having been thrown at a wall. Inside another unit, a baby wailed whilst a television blared. They reached unit number 6, and Voldemort gave Bellatrix a meaningful look as he held up a finger to keep her quiet. He could feel the souls inside the flat. One female presence, four male. They were there. Voldemort shut his eyes and reached out with his mind.

The adults are sitting at the table in the kitchen talking. The young boy is sleeping in the bedroom to the left. You go there first.

Bellatrix nodded as she received his instruction. Voldemort took a deep, steady breath, and he aimed the wand he'd stolen from Dumbledore at the door.

 _"Alohomora."_

The meagre Muggle locking system gave way at once. Voldemort let Bellatrix go in first; she needed to get to the young boy, Bill, before his parents could put up a fight over him. Bellatrix flung the door open and immediately dashed off to the left. Voldemort strode confidently into the kitchen, a hideous yellow conflagration of plastics and nearly-broken furniture. Molly Weasley screamed as soon as she saw Voldemort, and the instant she made a move toward the bedroom to the left, Voldemort nonverbally Stupefied her. Arthur and Bilius Weasley threw spells at him, and Voldemort blocked them with ease. He Disarmed both wizards, realising at once that the eldest one, the greying old blood traitor Septimus Weasley, had no wand. He'd left it in the room with Bill, Voldemort could see in the man's mind.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " he heard Bellatrix's voice scream, and there was a violent flash of green from the left. Arthur Weasley roared with rage, but before he could even move, Voldemort had killed him. Arthur collapsed in a heap, and Septimus' hands flew into his greying hair as he growled with frustrated grief.

"Stop!" the old man cried. "Please, please stop! Let us live in peace!"

"You had your chance to live in peace," Voldemort snarled at Septimus and Bilius. "My world would have given you plenty of peace. You chose death. Avada Kedavra!"

The Killing Curse socked Bilius Weasley right in his abdomen. Voldemort repeated the spell on Septimus, and then Bellatrix came stalking into the kitchen. She poked Molly Weasley with her boot and noted,

"She's still breathing."

"Take her out, then," Voldemort shrugged, and Bellatrix nonchalantly aimed her wand at the witch and said firmly,

 _"Avada Kedavra."_

The only living souls in the flat then were Voldemort himself and Bellatrix. She stared at him across the kitchen, and he could feel a little bit of unease radiating from her. He tipped his head and assured her,

"A two-year-old Weasley is just a blood traitor in a very small body, Bellatrix. There are no more innocents."

"I've no problem killing innocents," she said, frowning, "though, of course, you're right. I'm actually more concerned that all the noise might have alerted one of the neighbours."

Voldemort chuckled a little, reminded once again just how profoundly vicious his little thing was. She was right, of course. The other units were loud and angry, but there had been screeching chairs and screams and shouted curses that would sound foreign and bizarre to the Muggles. Perhaps he ought to have cast some Muggle-repelling or silencing spells outside the flat before they'd come in. It didn't matter; it was done now.

"Did you Vanish the corpse in the bedroom?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix nodded rather proudly. She aimed her wand at Molly Weasley and murmured,

 _"Corpus Evanesco."_

Voldemort did the same with the three wizards he'd killed, and then the flat was empty and quiet except for the sound of a Muggle fire engine whirring by outside the cracked window.

"We should go," Voldemort told Bellatrix firmly, holding out his arm. She snared her hand around his sleeve and smiled up at him, and then he Disapparated back to Malfoy Manor.

* * *

 **Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **20 April 1972**

"At least all the targets were eliminated. It could have been worse, My Lord," said Bellatrix's voice from outside the shower. Voldemort glared at the tile wall as the hot water coursed over him, and he tried to control his intense anger as he said,

"Yes, I suppose it could have been worse. We could have lost everyone. Instead, we only lost Tudor Yaxley and Rabastan Lestrange. It's hardly as though either of them were young fathers or anything. How do you suppose the Greengrass family is going to behave now that both their daughters have lost their husbands? Can I really continue to rely on their loyalty?"

"Well, if you can't, I'm sure you'll eliminate any risk they might create," Bellatrix said hesitantly. She'd already taken her own shower, so she was standing by the sink wrapped up in a towel. Voldemort shut the taps off and noted,

"They'll need to be replaced at the Ministry, of course. We'll have to stage a very elaborate joint funeral. Paint them as heroes who laid their lives down in eliminating existential threats to wizarding Britain."

That wasn't what had happened, of course. Yaxley had been taken down by an ancient witch, the mother of a blood-traitor. Rabastan Lestrange had been killed by the former Auror who had also managed to lop off Rodolphus Lestrange's left hand.

"I can begin plans for the funeral tomorrow, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him. "We can hold it at the end of the week. Where would you like it to be?"

"Here," Voldemort said firmly. There was silence, and he felt confusion from her. He opened the shower door and took the towel she offered him, wrapping it around his waist. He shrugged and said, "This comes down to people trusting me, Bella. Believing that I possess an irrefutable right to wield power. We'll make tombs for them on the moor. A little monument at the base of the scree. We'll host a quiet, solemn remembrance ceremony and meal here in the gathering hall."

"And who should be invited?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort swallowed hard and said,

"The whole of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Any Ministry employees with exemplary records of loyalty who have worked with either of them. Dolohov and any other pertinent Death Eaters. Keep it around seventy-five or a hundred."

Bellatrix nodded and said again, "I'll get everything planned quickly. It'll be easier in the morning when I can quickly make contacts."

Voldemort wrapped his arms around her damp shoulders and stared down at her face. Her wet curls hung in tendrils around her pale skin and her wide, dark eyes. He blinked a few times and noted,

"How very easily you handled the battle today, little thing. You're so much better than any of them could hope to be."

Bellatrix sighed and looked a bit sad as she said, "Dahlia just had the baby a few months ago. She's been madly in love with Rabastan Lestrange for years. She'll be completely and utterly heartbroken. Inconsolable."

"Perhaps you ought to go to her," Voldemort suggested, but Bellatrix shook her head.

"Seeing me right now will only make her hate you, My Lord. I think you're right, that we ought to honour them as heroes who died for a just cause. But all of that's better done with the distance created by protocol and patriotism. I think if I went to Dahlia Lestrange right now, I'd be on the receiving end of a good solid slap. She'll be the disconsolate widow of a hero at the funeral."

She reached up for Voldemort's chest, her fingers dancing over his skin and making him shiver. She thought for a moment and then suggested, "Paint the Greengrass family as the ultimate example of sacrifice and loyalty. Tudor Yaxley and Rabastan Lestrange left behind wives and children, you'll say, but those wives and children will be duly provided for by the thankful Ministry and the eternally grateful Dark Lord. Those wives and children will be given comfortable homes, House-Elves and nannies, an annual allowance… because Yaxley and Lestrange gave their lives for wizarding Britain, and the Dark Lord leaves no widow bereft."

She raised her eyes to him, and he curled up his lips as he thought over her words. She was completely right, as usual. Daisy Greengrass had been punished right alongside Yaxley for marrying without permission. There would be no mention of that at Yaxley's funeral. Daisy would be moved into a more comfortable setting with the twins she'd inherited. Dahlia would be made comfortable, at the very least. And the message that would be drilled into the minds of all present was that Yaxley and Lestrange had been vibrant, skillful soldiers taken down by the Dark Lord's enemies. And, after all, the enemies of the Dark Lord were the enemies of all of wizarding Britain.

"You're rather terrifying, you know that?" Voldemort asked as he tucked Bellatrix's wet curls behind her ear. "Slaughtering my foes with abandon. Effortless diplomacy. Being so damned beautiful. It's all a bit much. I'm very frightened of you."

Bellatrix smirked and flicked her fingers at the towel around his waist. He hissed as it fell to the ground, for she began to play with his cock as she stared up at him. He started to go hard at once in her hands, and she said gently,

"You don't need to fear me, My Lord. I'm the closest ally you'll ever know. I promise."

"Well. It's certainly small wonder that everyone else is afraid of you," he said, tipping his head back as she grazed her thumb over his tip.

"They're even more frightened of you," Bellatrix noted. "Do you think they're twice as afraid since there are two of us?"

"I hope so," he nodded. Unable to be patient any longer, he took Bellatrix by the hand and pulled her into the bedroom. He sat on the bench at the foot of the bed and wrenched her down onto him. He tossed her towel aside as she crawled onto his lap. When she sank down onto him, she was already wet, which made Voldemort groan with want.

He'd lost two of his more valuable soldiers today. But soldiers died in wars, and this war would never really be over. The grief could be handled. Bellatrix would help him manage all of that. She'd been skillful and diplomatic and sexy today, and he drank her in deeply when she bent to kiss him. His hands found her breasts as she bobbed on him. Her body was more lithe and youthful than ever thanks to what they'd done in Spain. Her breath shook against his lips as she moved, and he could feel her thinking about everything that had happened today. She was remembering the sight of the little Weasley child, the way Bellatrix had averted her gaze just as the Killing Curse struck the sleeping child. She was remembering Molly Weasley back at Hogwarts. She was thinking of Dahlia Lestrange and little Rosemary, of Daisy Yaxley and the twins that had been Ophelia's.

Then she was thinking of him, of Lord Voldemort, and how her entire life was to be lived for him. Others would fall. Others would drown in their sorrows, but no one would ever live for Him the way Bellatrix was doing.

"I love you, little thing," he assured her, and she touched her forehead to his as her body clenched with satisfaction.

"I… I love you, My Lord," she managed. The feel of her climax was far too much, and Voldemort felt himself spill inside her body as he saw spots and his ears went hot. He kissed her again, harder this time, and he thought straight toward her,

 _My soldier, my diplomat, My Lady. My vicious little thing._

* * *

 **Archer's Edge, Lake District**

 **23 April 1972**

 _"Morning, Tom!"_

 _Tom Riddle glanced up from the velvet cupboard shelf he had out on the counter. He was arranging trinkets for sale, and he turned up half his mouth as he said politely,_

 _"Good morning, Miss Burke."_

 _Elinor Burke, the daughter of the shop's proprietor, sauntered over to the counter and leaned her elbows on the glass that Tom had just cleaned. She cocked a blonde eyebrow up flirtatiously and informed him,_

 _"I'm so jealous of you, you know. I keep asking my father when he'll let me work in the shop. He says I'm far too delicate to be working in Knockturn Alley and that I need to find a good wizard to marry as soon as possible."_

 _Tom Riddle put the Egyptian scarab pendants on the tray in a straighter line as he mumbled,_

 _"Well, I suppose you'd best set about finding a good wizard, then, Miss Burke."_

 _She hesitated a moment, and he looked up to see her bright blue eyes eagerly studying his. She smiled warmly and noted, "Riddle. It's not a name I'm familiar with. Where's your family from again?"_

 _"Yorkshire," he said simply. Then, realising she might figure out that his father had been a filthy Muggle, he added, "My mother's side were all Gaunts."_

 _"Oh!" Elinor Burke grinned and nodded, and Tom could sense nervous attraction from her as she shrugged and asked, "I'm sure you have plenty of young witches clamoring after you, Mr Riddle!"_

 _He raised his eyes to her and considered what to say. He could tell her that no one was chasing him, that he just wasn't interested in her, but she was, after all, the daughter of his boss. So he said plainly,_

 _"I mean to accomplish great things in my life, Miss Burke, and I don't suppose that path leaves much room for fraternisation or romance."_

 _Elinor Burke's pale cheeks went pink, and she laughed nervously as she said, "Well. You'll have to graduate from being a clerk at Borgin and Burke's to do anything truly great, but I'm sure you'll manage it. The very best of luck to you in your pursuits."_

 _"And to you in yours, Miss Burke," said Tom Riddle coldly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to do inventory on our human skull collection."_

Bellatrix blinked her eyes open and stared at the wall, trying to pretend she hadn't just had that dream. She knew that Voldemort had shared it. She could tell in the deepest recesses of her mind that he'd been there with her in Borgin and Burke's. She shut her eyes again, but Voldemort murmured quietly,

"I know you're awake."

Bellatrix sighed and rolled over to face him. He wasn't going to want to discuss this one, she suspected. His face was steely as he stared at the ceiling, and she assured him,

"I know that's not who you are anymore, My Lord."

He scoffed and dug his knuckles into his eye sockets.

"Do you think less of me now?" he asked sharply, and Bellatrix frowned.

"Do I think less of you… because you were talking to Elinor Burke? She's Elinor Shacklebolt now, isn't she? She was very pretty back then."

He turned his face to her, his gaze like ice as he clarified, "I wasn't talking about Elinor Burke. I meant… now that you know what my father was…"

Bellatrix smiled and shook her head dismissively. "Oh, I figured out a long time ago that he was a Muggle. The information you gave me about him was scattered and vague, but I figured it out. There's no wizarding family called Riddle, and you've always talked about him as being dirty or filthy. You talked about being raised in a Muggle orphanage. I've known you were a Half-Blood for more than a year. What of it?"

Voldemort stared at her in open-mouthed shock. "You knew?"

Bellatrix hesitated. "Should I have said something about it?"

"No." Voldemort studied her face before rolling onto his back again. He sighed deeply and admitted, "I don't often think about those years on Knockturn Alley."

"Did you ever meet him?" Bellatrix asked suddenly, and she watched as Voldemort's throat bobbed. He knew who she meant.

"Yes," he said. "The day I killed him. That's the only time I laid eyes on him."

Bellatrix could suddenly see a middle-aged man who looked an awful lot like Voldemort did now. He was sitting in a drawing-room, wide-eyed with horror just before a vivid green light took him over. Voldemort huffed a sigh and threw the blankets off himself. He started to stalk across the bedroom, and Bellatrix sat up as she asked,

"Where are you going?"

He turned over his shoulder and said crisply, "To relieve myself in the bathroom, if it's all the same to you. Would you like a potion to help you sleep?"

She shook her head. "No, thank you. I'll be fine. Need to be alert for the funeral in the morning."

Voldemort nodded and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. She knew he didn't need the toilet; he needed to be alone. She could feel him shut his mind off entirely from her; she couldn't sense a thing from him. But she knew he was perseverating over his ugly past. Bellatrix turned back to face the wall and brought the blankets back up around her. She shut her eyes, her mind fixated on the sound and feel of Voldemort when he'd been a young and uncertain Tom Riddle. She started to drift off to sleep again, and then there was a soft pressure on the bed behind her.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort said rather firmly, and she woke herself up enough to hum a nonverbal reply. He slid up behind her, his arm wrapping around her body and settling on the mattress. He kissed her jaw and informed her, "If anyone else in the entire world had seen the dream you just did, I'd kill them. You know that."

"I do, My Lord," Bellatrix affirmed. He moved his lips to her ear, kissing the skin beside it as he murmured,

"You're the only one I'll ever be able to trust. And I can trust you, can't I?"

She turned her head until her eyes met his, and she nodded as she assured him, "Of course you can, My Lord. Forever. I adore you. I live for you."

He stared at her for a long moment, his mind still closed off, and finally he seemed satisfied. He nodded and whispered, "Go back to sleep, little thing."

* * *

 _Archer's Edge, Lake District_

 _23 April 1972_

"Are you very certain I shouldn't just use my wand for this?" Bellatrix took a steadying breath as she stared at Voldemort's reflection in the mirror. He smirked and shook his head, which looked rather funny because his scalp was covered in shaving cream.

"Much too close to my brain for a spell," he told her. "Easier to fix a slice from a straight razor."

"I shall try my best not to slice you," Bellatrix assured him. She angled the razor just so and pulled it back, following the curvature of his head as she murmured, "You know, I think your hair looks just fine. I don't mind the grey… or the hairline."

He stifled a laugh to keep his head still and informed her, "It's more intimidating with me bald, I think."

Bellatrix said nothing to that, though of course he was right. He seemed much more severe with a shaved head. She rinsed the razor under the sink tap and turned back to where he sat in his Conjured chair. She pulled the razor over his skin again, and he said quietly,

"Did you know that most Muggles believe, in one form or another, that after death all humans will stand before a great judgment?"

Bellatrix frowned and asked, "Who's judging them?"

"That depends on who you ask," Voldemort said. "Most of them believe that if you've done very good things in your life, you'll live forever in a grand paradise. And if you've done terrible things, you'll know nothing but torture for all eternity."

Bellatrix carefully finished a stroke with the razor and rinsed it again. "I wouldn't want that to be true. Do you think it's true, My Lord?"

"No," he said immediately. "I do not believe it is true."

Bellatrix stared at him in the mirror, adjusting her grip on the razor as she asked, "If it's not true, then why would they believe it? Why would you want to believe such a thing?"

"It gives them comfort, I suppose, to hope that if they've very gentle with one another, perhaps they'll be rewarded," Voldemort said. Bellatrix scoffed and dragged the razor over his head again as she noted,

"But they don't tend to be very gentle with one another, do they? I suppose most of them wind up being tortured eternally, then."

"Most of them wind up in a box," Voldemort said coldly, "except for the ones who are burned or thrown into the sea. None of them are granted everlasting paradise."

Bellatrix sensed a sudden, deep hostility from him, and she blinked quickly as she finished the last stroke on his head. She rinsed the razor, set it on the ledge above the sink, and soaked a rag in warm water. She dragged it over his scalp and assured him,

"There. Freshly intimidating, just in time for the funeral."

He met her eyes in the mirror and nodded solemnly. "Thank you."

* * *

 _Illgill Head, Wasdale Screes, Lake District_

 _23 April 1972_

Cold drizzle was descending from the sky, which seemed appropriate for an occasion like a double funeral for war heroes. Bellatrix stood on the soggy grass moor beside Lord Voldemort as people began to appear one by one. Whole families came by Portkey, whilst others Apparated to the spot. Everyone kept silent, for everyone was here to mourn.

Bellatrix had worn a knee-length black dress and sensible flat boots, along with a thick black woolen cloak to keep out the chill. She'd worn her silver tiara at Voldemort's insistence. They needed to look regal now more than ever, he'd insisted. He waited beside her, stony as the granite tombs into which Lestrange and Yaxley's bodies had already been placed. The heavy black granite tomb lids hovered in the air beside each sarcophagus, and a rough-edged rectangle of matching granite stood between them. Here lie Rabastan Lestrange and Tudor Yaxley, it read, who died for us all. It was as simple as that.

Bellatrix was rather horrified when Rodolphus Lestrange appeared with his new wife Marya. He'd lost his left hand in the battle that had killed his brother, and Bellatrix did not suppose she'd ever seen him look so distraught. Things got worse when Dahlia Lestrange appeared, her little baby Rosemary clutched in her arms as her father kept her standing. Her sister Daisy, whose marriage to Yaxley had seen them both fall from grace, stood glassy-eyed and vacant, and Bellatrix wondered whether she'd drugged herself to stay calm.

Once everyone had assembled in a quiet crowd, Voldemort took a step forward. He glanced around and projected over the wind in a clear, confident, smooth voice.

"My friends, today we have gathered to mark the loss of two remarkable wizards. I did not hesitate to put the Dark Mark on either of them, for I knew they would both prove themselves to be more than worthy of it. And they did just that, my friends. War is cruel. War is merciless. War takes and takes and gives so very little in return. Tudor Yaxley and Rabastan Lestrange fell fighting enemies of the new world we have created. Tudor Yaxley and Rabastan Lestrange fell to preserve the future of wizarding Britain. I shall never, ever forget their valour, nor their loyalty, nor their sacrifice. Raise your wands now in honour of two wizards whose loss will leave a profound scar upon us all."

Bellatrix pulled her wand out and illuminated it, holding it aloft along with everyone else. She watched as nearly every witch in attendance began to cry, and even a few of the wizards. But she stood steely as her husband, watching as he guided the lids onto the tombs and lowered them into the ground.

"Remarkable Ministry officials, loyal Death Eaters, beloved husbands and fathers, and martyrs for justice. Rabastan Lestrange and Tudor Yaxley. I commit them now to this earth, to this place where they shall rest forever."

The rain began to fall a bit harder as the tombs sealed up, as the ground around them covered them and reinforced the permanence of death. Bellatrix found Voldemort's eyes for a moment as she lowered her wand. Neither of them had to say anything to understand the other. This was a grim and awful thing to do, to put a body into the ground in front of someone's family. And Bellatrix knew Lord Voldemort was extraordinarily pleased that it would never happen to him.

* * *

 _Archer's Edge, Lake District_

 _23 April 1972_

The castle's large reception hall was appropriately solemn, with heavy black curtains draping the stained-glass windows. The lanterns on the walls made shadows on the stony floors, and the dull murmur of conversation echoed eerily about. Voldemort stood at the head of a receiving line; he'd instructed Bellatrix to mill about and give her condolences more holistically whilst people helped themselves to wine and hors d'oeuvres. No one seemed to be eating or drinking much. Bellatrix trained her eyes on Dahlia Lestrange, almost frightened to approach the woman. Dahlia turned round as Bellatrix came near, and she swiped tears from her eyes as she dipped into a curtsy.

"My Lady," she said in a choked voice, "What a remarkable tribute to Rabastan this has been. You and the Dark Lord have all my gratitude."

Bellatrix frowned a little, confused not only by Dahlia's distance and formality, but by the way she seemed almost at peace with Rabastan's demise. Bellatrix studied little Rosemary's face and noted,

"She has Rabastan's nose and lips, Dahlia."

"And she always will," Dahlia nodded. "I'll always have him with me because of Rosemary."

Bellatrix found herself very unexpectedly fighting off tears then. She sighed and said gently, "The Dark Lord wants to ensure that you and Rosemary are as comfortable as possible in perpetuity. Rabastan took good care of you both; the Dark Lord means to do the same to honour Rabastan's sacrifice. You'll have plenty of money, Dahlia, and when you find yourself ready to leave your parents' house, you'll have a good place of your own with House-Elves and anything else you need."

Dahlia smiled, her eyes still very sad as she said, "The Dark Lord is merciful and just. I am proud that my husband fell in his service."

Bellatrix nodded and reached hesitantly for Rosemary. "May I hold her for a moment?"

"Yes. Of course." Dahlia passed the tiny child, who'd been swaddled in a soft black blanket, to Bellatrix. Rosemary stared up with her vividly blue eyes, her lips making strange little motions.

"She's hungry; I'll need to go feed her somewhere private," Dahlia said in a distracted voice. Bellatrix nodded and said,

"There are parlours and libraries all over the ground floor. Find somewhere comfortable."

She passed Rosemary back then, for she felt uncomfortable all of a sudden as she remembered her anger at the way Voldemort had Vanished her womb. Dahlia took Rosemary back into her arms and said fervently to Bellatrix,

"I will miss him forever. I will love him forever. But I am proud of him. I am proud."

"So am I, Dahlia," Bellatrix said, finally unable to keep a solitary tear from creeping out of her right eye. She swiped at it and watched Dahlia walk from the room, and she took a moment to compose herself. She knew she needed to speak with Daisy, with the young witch who had usurped poor dead Ophelia in Tudor Yaxley's heart. Bellatrix found Daisy alone, apparently still ostracised by most of the wizarding community. Joy and Victor were with Yaxley's parents on the other side of the reception room. Daisy was chewing absently on a little puff pastry, and when Bellatrix walked up, she quickly swigged water to clear her mouth, and she stammered,

"G-good day, My Lady."

"Daisy." Bellatrix put her hand on the young witch's shoulder and said firmly, "Please accept my condolences. Tudor Yaxley was one of the very first and very finest -"

"Will he haunt me now, too?" Daisy interrupted, and Bellatrix scowled as she took her hand from Daisy's shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

Daisy looked rather crazed for a moment as she said, "Ophelia never left. Not really. Sometimes at night one of the twins would start crying, and I'd rush in there as quickly as I could, but Ophelia would already be there shushing them."

Bellatrix felt her veins go cold. "Daisy, are you… do you mean that Ophelia has become a ghost?"

It wasn't impossible, of course. Hogwarts was profoundly haunted with the disembodied spirits of the dead. It even made sense that Ophelia would have chosen the half existence of being a ghost, just so that she might continue to see her children. But Daisy's answer dispelled any notion of such a thing.

"Tudor said I'd gone mad. He said she wasn't really there. And she wasn't a ghost. Not really. It was more like… more like her very being just wouldn't leave. I could feel her all the time. She was angry with me, so angry, and now I'm worried that Tudor will be the same way. And I'll just be left with two children who aren't mine and the angry leftovers of their parents."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she struggled to maintain a diplomatic tone as she said,

"Daisy, if you'll excuse me… I'll be back in a moment."

Bellatrix strode quickly to where Voldemort stood. He turned his attention away from a member of the Selwyn family; he could clearly sense Bellatrix's trepidation. He appeared to politely excuse himself, and he caught up with Bellatrix and walked quickly and silently with her to the corner of the room.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, and Bellatrix hissed,

"Daisy Greengrass is not fit to raise those twins. She's either insane or a liar. She says Ophelia's been haunting her, but admits it's not a visible ghost. She says Yaxley's going to haunt her, that she's going to be stuck with children who aren't hers."

Voldemort put his lips into a line and huffed angrily. "That stupid girl. As if she didn't ruin enough when Yaxley was alive. Fine. I'll see to it that Yaxley's parents have custody of the twins, though they're quite old. They'll need multiple House-Elves and at least one nanny who isn't going to ruin their family."

Bellatrix tried not to scoff. She glanced to where Daisy stood alone and asked, "Shall I talk to her, or are you going to do it?"

Voldemort tipped his head and reminded her, "You're the diplomat. Tell her she doesn't have to raise Ophelia's children; she can go back to living with her parents until she finds a new husband to steal."

"I'll say that diplomatically, My Lord," Bellatrix teased him. Then she took a breath and reached up to adjust the knot on his black tie. She touched the tie bar she'd given him years earlier and said gently, "You sounded perfect outside. It's a shame you've lost Yaxley and Lestrange, but their deaths will have brought you even more glory. More loyalty."

"It's true," he nodded. "It is a shame I don't have them fighting for me any longer, but… they've given me more in death than they ever could in life. Go talk to the Greengrass girl, will you? I'll handle the Yaxleys."

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix nodded firmly, staring up at the man who had already become an immortal and a legend unto himself. She thought of their shared dreams, of kissing him, of him giving speeches in the rain, and her head whirled a little. She had been made for him. She lived for him. And now, she was a part of him. They had melded into one another; they were a beast unto themselves. And Bellatrix Black wouldn't have had it any other way.

* * *

 **THE END**


End file.
